


Compromising Position

by staymagical



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Head Injury, Hurt!Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Mutilation, Sickness, Stress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2084850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staymagical/pseuds/staymagical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Merlin are captured by bandits while on a hunt and Merlin runs his mouth a little more than they appreciate. He receives the brunt of their frustration but their actions have bigger consequences than anyone ever thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I have been thinking about and wondering. Yeah, its another one of my "I wonder what would happen if...?" Let's see how this one goes...

"You shut your mouth boy!" The bandit growled as his meaty hands reached for Merlin's throat. Arthur could only watch helplessly as the bandit moved to unleash his fury upon his servant.

Merlin really did need to learn when to keep his mouth shut. Especially now.

They had been out on one of their apparently well-know hunts. Yeah, it seemed all the stories they told that led to them being in such compromising positions started with those words. The standard hunting-trip-gone-wrong applied this time too. And the bandits had literally come out of nowhere, despite what Merlin might say to the contrary. His servant had laid claim to 'funny feelings' and 'mysterious noises' which really were just the idiot's way of saying "I don't want to be here so can we just go home now". And of course Arthur had brushed these claims aside, thinking his servant was just up to his regular excuses again. Boy, had he been wrong.

Yes yes for once Merlin had been correct. There had been reason to be alert and wary. But Arthur would rather eat horse dung than to admit that out loud, especially to his idiot servant.

The bandits had outnumbered them six to one and with Merlin's infamous skill with a sword, they didn't stand a chance. Still Arthur had managed to take down six bandits before they had managed to subdue him. And it was only because some low-life bandit had managed to give Merlin a blow to the head and held a dagger to his throat, threatening to water the ground with his blood if Arthur didn't surrender immediately. What was he supposed to do? He didn't really feel like having to search and train a new servant. And maybe, just maybe he liked having Merlin around and the banter and jibes the young man provided as entertainment. And the way he wouldn't take shit from him no matter his status nor the threats Arthur dangled above his head. He made Arthur a better person.

Again the rather-eat-horse-dung-than-admit-it applied there too.

But that's also what led to the idiot's current problem. He had let his mouth run, like he did every day with Arthur, though here aimed at the bandits, it was less endearing and slightly hostile, meant to anger and rile the men that had captured them and really, could Merlin be any more of an idiot? This was not the time. If Arthur didn't know any better he would have thought Merlin was trying to keep the bandit's attention and anger on him. But that would be ridiculous. The boy couldn't be that stupid, could he?

But there he was, the bandit's rage-filled eyes set upon his pale face as he sat bound to a tree on the outskirts of the camp and completely at the man's mercy. And all Arthur could do was watch from where he sat across from Merlin, similarly bound and restrained.

Meaty hands closed around Merlin's throat, as the young man opened his mouth no doubt to hurl another insult at the enraged bandit. Merlin's eyes widened slightly as his air supply was cut off and began to thrash in his bonds, trying in vain to throw the bandit off.

Arthur was shouting, not pleading or begging but hurling insults of his own in order to attract the bandit's attention away from his servant. But the bandit had eyes only for Merlin.

It wasn't until the man began using his hold on Merlin's throat to repeatedly slam the servant's head against the hard surface of the tree, that Arthur became desperate. Never in his life had he ever needed or wanted to seek help from his captors but the situation was dire.

So he swallowed his pride and started yelling to the surrounding camp of bandits for help. Anything to keep the man from killing his friend—servant! He was just his servant. Wasn't he?

Finally another bandit arrived and Arthur almost breathed out in relief as the man ran over to pull his comrade away from the young servant. But his view was of Merlin was abstracted by the two men and until he saw Merlin's idiotic grin, he wasn't going to let himself feel any relief.

"Carlin! Carlin, stop! He's out mate! You got your revenge! Stop!" The newest arrival yelled, struggling with the first bandit—Carlin—and finally managing to yank the enraged man away from the servant and down onto the ground.

And Arthur's view of Merlin was finally unobstructed.

The first thing Arthur frantically searched for was a sign of life. Merlin's eyes were closed, body limp, slumped, and devoid of any movement. For a few seconds, Arthur was unable to locate any and panic began to set in, the likes of which he had never felt before. Not even when his father had been mortally wounded. But he soon sighed in relief as he made out the slow rise and fall of his servant's chest. He was breathing. That was at least something. But he was clearly unconscious, bruises already blooming around his neck—at least where his absurd neckerchief had fallen down—and a splattering of blood painted the tree where his head had connected with it. That had Arthur worried all over again.

"Did you hear what he said?!" Carlin screamed once he had regained his footing, pointing an accusing finger at the unconscious black-haired boy.

The other bandit shook his head, giving a huff of frustration. "You can't let him get to you so easily, mate. Just ignore him." Carlin let out a growl of hatred, stepping toward Merlin again but the other bandit clasped a hand in his shoulder, halting him in his tracks. "Or gag him. It don't matter you just can't kill him yet. Boss' orders."

Carlin took a deep breath. After a few moments he nodded still not taking his eyes off Merlin's form. He reached into his boot and after much struggling freed a dirty ragged strip of cloth. No, Arthur amended, not a strip of cloth. The man's sweaty dirty sock. He winced knowing exactly what the man intended to do with it. He wanted to protest but knew if it were to have any effect on Carlin, it wouldn't be in Merlin's favor.

Carlin sneered as he balled up the sock and jammed it into Merlin's mouth before gagging the servant with his own neckerchief.

Carlin gave Merlin a kick to the thigh, ignoring Arthur's protest before striding away, a smirk marring his face. Arthur scowled. He needed to get over there and check Merlin. He needed to ensure Merlin didn't have any life threatening injuries or he didn't bleed out. Head wounds could be tricky and bleed profusely. Merlin could very well die without treatment before morning.

"Hey!" Arthur yelled, trying to get the attention of the bandit who came to Merlin's rescue. The man cocked his head then turned, surprise flashing across his face as he seemed to notice Arthur for the first time. Then he frowned, crossing his arms in annoyance but didn't make a move to leave. "He'll bleed out if his head isn't tended to. Let me see to him," Arthur bit his tongue not wanting to plead but knowing it was necessary to show he wasn't going to try anything funny. "Please."

The bandit gave a bark of a laugh. "You really think I'm going to fall for that?"

"I promise I won't try anything. Just let me help—."

"Not gonna happen, _your majesty_ ," the bandit interrupted with a sneer and a shake of his head. But his eyes betrayed his hesitation. Arthur could practically hear the thoughts racing through the man's head. He had said they weren't allowed to let Merlin die, at least not yet. Their boss had ordered it. So he had to at least attempt to tend to the servant's injury or risk the wrath of the leader. And from the expression on the man's face, Arthur was willing to bet the bandit would do anything to avoid the latter.

"Please," Arthur tried one more time. And he noticed each time he pleaded it became a little bit easier to stomach. Yes, he still felt sick for having to practically beg his captors, like he was betraying all of Camelot and his right to be king by doing so. But he wasn't, he was trying to save his servant's life, one of his people. And it was his duty, as king, to protect his people. Really, he was just doing his duty.

"No," the bandit replied, voice breaking through Arthur's thoughts, bringing him back to the task at hand. But even as he spoke those words, the bandit moved towards Merlin. Arthur shouted out in alarm, thinking the man was just going to kill his servant then and there and let that be the end of things, the leader's orders be damned. He struggled in his bonds, the rope around his wrists biting, digging, burning into his skin in his attempt to escape them and reach Merlin. But it was futile. The rope wasn't going to give.

He watched helplessly as the man withdrew a dagger from his belt and knelt in front of Merlin, once again obstructing the king's view of his servant. Arthur was yelling again, insults and pleas alike blending together until the words were barely distinguishable in themselves.

"Shut up you insolent man!" the bandit yelled, glaring over his shoulder at Arthur before moving aside slightly so the king could see what he was doing. And Arthur was shocked into silence.

The bandit had cut off a strip of fabric from the hem of Merlin's tunic and was now crudely wrapping it around the young man's head. It was a shoddy job and probably wouldn't be much help in stopping the blood flow entirely, but Arthur deemed that it should at least be enough to slow it down so that Merlin's risk of dying from blood loss would decrease. At least Arthur hoped so. He was no physician but what choice did he have at this moment. Any help was better than none.

"There," the bandit stated not even giving his handiwork a once over as he stood and turned around. "Happy now, _sire_?"

"No, not really. Release us and I'll be happy."

The bandit cocked an eyebrow. "Do you really wanna go down this road, _sire_?" He gestured toward where Merlin was still unconscious. "Could always undo what I have done if you are not happy. I could call Carlin back out here and he—."

"No, I'm happy. I'm happy" Arthur said, the words coming out somewhere between a growl and a sigh of resignation. It was killing him how reliant he was upon his captors. He hated feeling so dependent and vulnerable. That's not how a king should feel.

The bandit nodded once with a smirk then strode away, disappearing into a tent further in the camp.

Arthur's attention snapped back to his servant. His eyes roamed up and down the young man's body, searching for any previously overlooked injuries or trauma. But the only noticeable damage he could locate had already been seen to, no matter how poorly. Besides, there was very little he could do even if he did find more. Merlin would just have to hold out until Arthur discovered a way out.

And with those thoughts, Arthur sat back, resigned to a sleepless night spent watching over his servant and searching his mind for any means to get them both out of there alive.

 *~*~*~*~*

Arthur woke abruptly, body and mind on high alert. Something had pulled him from the depths of sleep—though, he cursed to himself, he hadn't meant to fall asleep in the first place—and he immediately began searching the dark forest around him for any hint of danger.

But he found nothing out of place. At least nothing he could see within the meager light the fire in the center of camp provided him with. No danger to be had except for the predicament they were already in. His body sagged a little in relief.

And then jumped to attention again as he remembered exactly who was in this predicament with him.

Merlin was where the bandits had left him last, still bound and slumped against the tree. The blood had dried on the bark, creating a menacing stain on the trunk to float just above his servant's head like a warning. A warning that had been well received.

But, to Arthur's relief, Merlin was no longer unconscious. His eyes were just starting to open, though they were completely unfocused and glazed.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, not wanting to startle his servant and also wanting to keep his voice down in order not to aggravate the killer headache he knew the young man would be sporting.

Merlin didn't appear to have heard him, his eyes now blinking several times as his brain became more and more awake. But he hadn't made any attempt to move at all, still trying to get his vision to work.

A sudden horror crossed Arthur's mind. What if Merlin couldn't move? Or see? What if the damage done to his head had been so severe that it had damaged his brain? Arthur had heard of such a thing from one of his many days spent in Gaius' chambers when he was a boy and his father shooed him away. Men having taken such a hard blow to the head that it left them without certain abilities. Like movement, sight, or hearing.

"Merlin," Arthur said louder this time, almost frantic as his fear momentarily got the better of him.

Merlin's head snapped up, eyes still dazed and unfocused but able to find Arthur's face well enough that the king no longer feared him to be blind. And he had moved, so that too was a good sign.

Those thoughts were completely wiped from Arthur's mind as, in the next second, Merlin's whole face scrunched up in pain and a muffled cry permeated from behind the gag still firmly in his mouth.

Arthur winced, knowing he was the one who had caused his servant's pain this time, startling the young man and causing him to move much too quickly after the beating his head had taken.

There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that Merlin had a concussion. The question of its severity remained to be seen.

"Breathe Merlin, just breathe through it. It'll be ok," he soothed.

But it wasn't. Arthur could see what was going to happen a few seconds before it did. Merlin's pained face suddenly turned horror stricken, eyes widening and throat convulsing. He was going to throw up.

And the gag was obstructing its escape.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More? You want more? Ok here, have some more...

"Help!" Arthur called out into the night, not caring if he woke the entire forest in the process only focused on getting someone anyone to come to their aid _now_. Merlin was now choking, the vomit stuck in his throat, thrown off its original course by the gag and finding there was nowhere left to go as Merlin's body continued to try and purge itself.

Merlin was convulsing, the sight and sounds of the young man struggling to breathe and purge himself at the same time overwhelmed Arthur. His panic rose to unmeasurable levels. His calls turned into screams, thrashing even more furiously than before in his bonds. He wanted to get to Merlin, he _needed_ to get to him, would do anything to just be able to tear that treacherous gag out of his mouth and let him breathe! He would chop off his own hand if he had to and was practically doing so as the ropes bit even further into his wrists drawing blood as they rubbed the skin clean off. But he was desperate and couldn't be bothered with his own pain as he was forced to watch his friend—yes _friend_ —choke on his own vomit before his eyes. And he was completely powerless to help.

Just then, two bandits ran onto the scene, one with light brown hair and a slight build, the other bald and chubby. Both of their faces were enraged at having been woken up in such a manner and by the captive no less. Neither one was Carlin, nor his bandit comrade and Arthur felt slight relief at that. Not that he really cared at the moment who came to their aid, only that someone saved Merlin.

One of the bandits immediately stalked over to Arthur, not having seen Merlin's predicament, his arm pulled back ready to shut the king up by force.

"He's choking! He's dying! Help him! HE'S CHOKING!" Gone were his reservations of pride and dignity, gone were the feelings of betrayal and disgust he felt with himself for his reliance on his captors. All Arthur cared about right now was saving Merlin.

Both the bandits whirled around in shock, finally taking in the sight of the young servant, now convulsing weakly as the last of his strength began to leave him. They scrambled over, one on either side of Merlin's half-prone body. One whipped out a knife and cut through Merlin's bonds, allowing the two bandits more room to maneuver the young man while the other hastily removed the gag. They then tipped Merlin—now completely stretched out on the ground—on his side, finally giving the vomit a point of destination as it came flowing out. The bald one began pounding on Merlin's back as the convulsions ceased. But whether that was due to the obstruction in his mouth being removed or the life having left this body, Arthur didn't know. He sincerely hoped, prayed and pleaded with any deity who would listen that it was the former.

"Merlin?" Not a word nor movement answered Arthur, causing his concern to increase tenfold.

"He's not breathing, Merek," the brunette stated, his hand over Merlin's slack mouth.

Panic swarmed in Arthur and his mind reeled at the bandit's words. No. Merlin couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.

"Good riddance then. Carlin said he was more trouble than he was worth."

No no no no no. Merlin wasn't dead he couldn't be dead. The roaring of blood in Arthur's ears nearly drowned out the bandits' words.

"But boss said—," the younger bandit begin but Merek quickly cut him off.

"—that _we_ couldn't kill him. Never said nothing about him going and killing himself, the stupid idiot," Merek responded as he got to his feet. Anger rose in Arthur even though he was unable to tear his eyes away from Merlin's limp form. No one called Merlin an idiot but him. No one, especially now.

The bandit looked over at Arthur then no doubt noticing the rage and pain he wasn't even bothering to hide. Not that he could if he wanted to. Shock had him sitting still, staring at the body of his friend.

Merek paused for a second before a malicious grin spread across his face. And before Arthur could even register his intent, the bandit reared his foot back and kicked Merlin in the chest.

A sickening crack filled the air. "Stop! Leav—," but Arthur's protests were cut off by a the sound of retching and a loud gasp as though the owner had been struggling for air and finally received it. After a second, great wracking coughs echoed through the forest.

Merlin.

Arthur sagged in relief as he watched Merlin move, his friend's body wracked with violent coughs as his once empty lungs strove to fill with sufficient air. The sounds were rough and Arthur had no doubt Merlin was in pain—he was certain the crack he had heard was a rib snapping—but he was alive. Merlin was alive.

"Shame," Merek pouted as his comrade ran his hands across Merlin's face, lifting his lids and examining him none too gently.

"He's fine," the brunette announced, looking up at Merek. Hacking coughs continued to fill the silence and the bandit looked back down at Merlin's curled form. "Well as fine as to be expected."

"Don't care," Merek stated.

Then, without warning, Merek grabbed Merlin's arm in a bruising grip and hauled the young man toward where Arthur sat bound, not even giving him a chance to gain his footing.

Merlin screamed.

It was a sound that Arthur never wanted nor never thought he would ever hear. The agony and raw pain emancipating from the cry was enough to have Arthur struggling in his bonds once more, adding his own voice to that of his friend's. His however, was filled with anger.

"Oh do shut up! Both of ya!" The bandit yelled as he dragged Merlin the last few feet and threw him bodily down next to Arthur. "Or I'll gag ya both," he added, kicking Merlin's leg before stalking back toward the tents.

"Tie the fool next to his king. Maybe that'll shut them both up and we can all finally sleep!" He shouted at the other bandit who was still rooted to the spot by the other tree. The man jumped to attention as though startled and quickly made his way over to them. Merlin had curled into a ball, shaking, wheezing, and whimpering softly as tears carved tracks down his dirt and blood stained face. The sight was heart wrenching and one he never hoped to see ever again.

"Merlin? Hey. Look at me, Merlin." Arthur whispered, trying to make his voice as soothing and calm as possible.

The young man made a rasping noise that Arthur assumed was his attempt at responding but it was indiscernible to the king. And though he didn't move, he did open his eyes. Arthur let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't much, but it was something

But all too soon another cry was ripped from his friend's throat as the brunette bandit grabbed his arms and wrenched them behind the tree, threading one under Arthur's own bound arms. The movement forced Merlin to maneuver his body into a more upright position in order to prevent further pain and harm to himself.

"Stop! You're hurting him!" Arthur protested though he knew it was no use. They were prisoners after all, with not much say in what happened to them at this point.

The bandit didn't say a word, just quickly finished binding Merlin to the tree before making a hasty retreat back to the tents. Arthur scowled at his retreating form. The man obviously was not comfortable with the situation. Well that made three of them.

"Merlin?" Arthur questioned, looking toward the young man. The pale face was screwed up in pain as beads of sweat mingled with the tears still leaking from beneath shut eyelids. His arms twitched every once in awhile in a futile attempt to pull them forward, and his breathing was harsh and strained to the point of wheezing and coughing. Definitely a broken rib then. "It's alright, just breathe. Steady in and out."

"Shut...up," Merlin bit out through clenched teeth, his voice rough and scratchy. Arthur raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Please," the young man quickly amended. "My head….is killing me."

Arthur knew that couldn't be the only thing. No doubt the roughness of his voice had something to do with the abuse his throat—inside and out—had been put through lately. Now Arthur didn't pretend to know what almost choking to death on vomit did to one's insides but from the way the substance burned coming up, he knew it was not meant to sit anywhere but in the stomach and out of the body. He added it to the list of Merlin's injuries to relate to Gaius once they returned.

Not wanting to cause his friend further pain, Arthur just nodded. He glanced away, trying to give Merlin what little privacy he could to gather his bearings and pull himself together. The servant must be in a great deal of pain for him to snap like that. In all the time he had known Merlin, Arthur had never heard him speak so harshly. Nor admit he was hurting. It was...concerning to say the least. They needed to get out of here and soon.


	3. Chapter 3

While he waited, Arthur wiggled his hands again, hissing as the ropes binding them rubbed against broken skin causing pain to shoot up his arms. He could feel the blood practically soaking his wrists and hands as they slid against each other. Just one more injury to catalogue in their growing list.

Arthur suddenly froze, his mind whirling as an idea formed. Ignoring the pain, he moved his hands once again, feeling them slip and slide against one another. It might not be enough but Arthur had no better plan at the moment. He would just have to hope that—and he shuddered just thinking about it—he had bled enough to provide sufficient lubrication.

Gritting his teeth and trying not to jostle Merlin next to him, Arthur worked at the ropes, wiggling his burning flayed wrists until the ropes were pulled exceptionally tight around the widest part of his hands. And he refused to stop there, biting back the winces and pained grunts he so wanted to let free.

"Arthur? What...what are you...doing?" He heard Merlin question from his side, but he just grit his teeth harder and persevered, knowing that if he opened his mouth to respond, he wouldn't be able to mask the pain he was currently putting himself through.

But Merlin, through his own haze, must have seen the agony Arthur was in and why for his voice suddenly got very panicked, "Arthur...stop. No, this isn't...worth it. We'll...we'll find another way. Stop, Arthur! Stop!" But Arthur didn't stop, not until his left hand popped free with a sigh of relief on his part and the rope fell away, useless now.

With a quick glance toward the bandit camp to ensure they weren’t being watched, Arthur spun around behind the tree and began undoing Merlin’s binds. Merlin for his part, remained silent except for a few winces and gasps here and there when Arthur jostled his arms. But soon, Merlin too was free. Arthur dashed away before he could so much as hiss for him to stop, only to appear half a minute later, his sword bouncing against his hip. Merlin attempted to get to his feet on his own but the endeavor ended with a sharp gasp of pain and a slump to the ground. Arthur wasted no time ducking under his friend’s arm and hoisting him off the ground ignoring the bitten-off cry. But Merlin was able to keep quiet enough not to alert their captors of their escape and the two stumbled, hobbled, and bumped their way to the tree line, not daring to stop once they had reached it.

Arthur gripped Merlin's arm tighter, hoisting his friend further up as they continued to stumble through the undergrowth. He had no clue as to where exactly he was but all that mattered right now was getting away. Getting Merlin away.

Thirty minutes later found the two of them breathless from exertion, Arthur from having to support the weight of both of them and Merlin from what Arthur assumed was his broken rip constricting his lungs. It wasn't too worrisome really but if it wasn't bound soon, a little more movement and it could easily punctured his lungs and then where would he be? Well, not alive that's for sure.

Arthur brought their little party to a halt by what looked to be the overhang of tree roots that created a shallow dirt cave in the encompassing dark. He was grateful for it now, as he approached it and brushed aside some bushes in front. The dirt cave wasn't very deep nor tall, but it would provide adequate shelter just big enough for the two of them where they would be fairly hidden from view of any passers by. It wasn't optimal, but it would have to do. For now.

Arthur gently bundled Merlin inside, setting the boy on the dry ground inside beneath a particularly thick root as carefully as he could. Merlin seemed somewhat out of it by now, not even wincing much as Arthur moved him about. He hoped it was just from fatigue and his obvious shortness of breath. Otherwise, there were some underlying injuries that Arthur himself would have no chance at remedying despite his somewhat scattered battlefield knowledge.

"Arthur...you're—you need….to bind those...or you'll...get an...infection...you prat." Merlin wheezed before swallowing audibly, clearly not as out of it as Arthur thought. He rolled his eyes as Merlin tried to reach toward Arthur's still bleeding wrists but not getting far before his ribs begged him to go no further and he settled back with a gasp of pain.

With a huff of annoyance, Arthur moved further into the small space, crouching down beside his friend. "Honestly Merlin, you are not one to talk. Can barely even move an inch without grimacing in pain. Just sit there and shut up while I do all the work."

Merlin didn't respond, which gave Arthur all the permission he needed—not that he would have listened to Merlin had the boy declined but that was beside the point. He extracted himself from his chainmail with great difficulty—really how on earth anyone get these damn things on without manservants he will never know—and his jerkin. Then, taking hold of the hem of his tunic, he ripped it spectacularly much to Merlin's displeasure if the groan that emanated from the boy was anything to go by.

"I'm the one...who's going...to have to...repair that," he complained in short spurts of breath, sending Arthur one of his annoyed glares. Arthur just ignored him and continued on.

"I'm sorry Merlin, this is going to hurt," Arthur said sympathetically once he had a decent amount of makeshift bandages.

"Just...do it," Merlin bit out as Arthur lifted his tunic as gently as possible. Arthur nodded and from then on they were silent except for a few grunts and sharp gasps from Merlin as Arthur bound his ribs tightly.

Once done, Arthur gave Merlin a once over, checking his head wound for infection. It was more of a small gash than a cut on the back of his head but Arthur had no doubt it was still painful and could potentially be worrisome. But there was no infection to speak of. Yet. Arthur nodded to himself, satisfied for now before tearing another strip of fabric from his tunic.

"I'm fine Arthur...really," Merlin protested, trying to bat Arthur's hands away with clumsy movements but missing entirely. "It stopped...bleeding hours ago."

Arthur just scowled, tutting. "For a physician's apprentice you sure do ignore your own health risks a lot, Merlin. Not a second ago you were berating me on my open wounds. You are not impervious to infection, you know."

"Yes I am aware of that"—he hissed as Arthur's fingers barely brushed over the sensitive wound—"fact."

"Then shut up and let me finish," Arthur gazed behind him, out between the bush that covered their hiding spot, trying to gauge if their escape had been noticed yet.

But not a single movement could be seen or footfall heard. For now, they were in the clear. But he knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. "The sooner you are patched up, the sooner we can continue."

"You too...clotpole."

"Shut up." But he ripped off another strip of cloth from his now truly pathetic looking tunic and offered both it and his wrists to Merlin.

"You really shouldn't have done it," Merlin said quietly, avoiding Arthur's gaze and focusing all his attention on the task before him. "We could have found another way. A less debilitating way."

"I am not debilitated _Mer_ lin. I am perfectly capable of performing at top form. Dragging your sorry arse all this way should be evidence enough of that fact."

Merlin just shrugged, aborting the movement halfway as it pulled at his rib and tying the last bandage off with a quick tug that made Arthur wince.

He moved his arms, rolling his wrists around to ensure he still retained full mobility. With a satisfied nod, he sat back for a minute, looking about the inside of the dirt alcove. It was dark but a few roots could be seen protruding from the roof, clods of dirt clinging to the ends. Bushes and undergrowth grew just outside the alcove, providing sparse but decent enough cover from prying eyes. Well, from a distance. If one of the bandits were to pass directly in front, there was no way they could miss the huddled men.

Arthur glanced over at Merlin then, noticing the young man was better than before, no longer grimacing in pain with every breath but his breathing had yet to regain a steady rhythm. He was leaning back against the dirt wall behind him, head tilted back and eyes closed, the very picture of exhausted.

Arthur let out a sigh, coming to a quick decision. "I guess this is as good a place as any, really. We might as well rest here for a few hours and continue on once it's light."

Merlin opened his eyes, blinking slowly as he glanced over at Arthur. "So close to the camp?"

Arthur shrugged, "They won't expect it." _Hopefully_ he added to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was enjoyable. Reviews are wonderful and extremely well loved


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I'm finally back. And here's the next chapter so yay. Also, thanks to several comments and reviews that got me thinking, the plot and story for this fic have changed and expanded. Nothing from the previous chapters has changed but the following direction has and I'm so excited about it! Hope you all enjoy it too.

There wasn't much more to be done. They both knew that there was only so far they could go in their current conditions. Merlin's, at least, despite any of the servant's arguments to the contrary. Food and water would have to wait for daylight, no matter how dry Arthur's mouth felt. A fire would just give the bandits a shining beacon to follow, and there was no way of knowing if there was any decent shelter further along. In the dark of the night, finding a better shelter would be impossible. It was a miracle Arthur had spotted this one.

On the bright side, the bandits wouldn't be able to track them until morning. 

Silence fell between them, only broken by the rustle of the wind through the trees and Merlin’s short breaths. Arthur dozed off. The little sleep he had gotten earlier in the night and the trek through the forest were finally catching up to him. He tried to force himself to stay awake though, to watch the forest for any sign of danger. But force of will could only go so far when a body was exhausted.

Harsh coughs startled Arthur awake. He mentally berated himself he for falling asleep again. Who knew what sort of trouble Merlin had attracted while he was blissfully unaware. The coughing ceased just as Arthur turned to locate his servant. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Merlin making such a ruckus, waking up the forest so early in the morning.

Morning.

Arthur cursed, shooting to his feet before he froze. Sing-song chirping of birds high in the trees filled the background, interrupted only by the rustling of leaves dancing along a breeze's back. No booted footsteps, no hushed whispers of approaching bandits. For now.

Another harsh cough sounded from below him and Arthur was quick to shush Merlin.

“Good morning—” cough “—to you too, clotpole,” Merlin croaked, his voice harsh and rough from lack of water, the words no more than a whisper. Arthur was too busy scanning the surrounding forest to pay it any mind. The soft glow of the early morning sun bathed the trees in just enough light to see by. No doubt the bandits were already out looking for them, tracking them despite the poor light. And it would only get brighter with every passing minute.

“We have to move,” Arthur commanded as he turned back to Merlin in the cramped space. The young man looked none the worse than he did a few hours ago—perhaps a bit paler though that could just be the dim light—but he still wheezed like air was in short supply here in the middle of the forest.

Arthur frowned. He knew broken ribs could hinder ones breathing but binding them should have fixed that to some degree. So his breathing should have improved some. But instead it seemed he was still struggling, a fact that just didn’t make sense. Except he had nearly died choking on his own vomit not too long ago.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, crouching down in front of the young man and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Merlin, look at me. Where does it hurt?”

Merlin blinked up at Arthur. His eyes were dazed and distant, but he seemed to come back to himself after a moment, saying “I’m fine,” in a rough grating whisper with a shake of his head. A groan escaped Merlin’s lips as his face pinched in pain, lithe fingers reaching up to soothe his skull. Then he remembered his charade and let them flop back to his side.

“Yes, clearly you are in perfect health,” Arthur deadpanned. “Throat and head, I presume. Anywhere else? Ribs still a bother?” A hum was all he got in answer, whether it was in negative or affirmative though, Arthur didn’t know. And he didn’t have time to find out. They had already wasted enough time as it was.

“Well, there’s not much we can do here, so you’ll just have to try not to die on me until we can get to safety,” Arthur stated, straightening out of his crouch. He reached down and grasped Merlin’s forearm, stiff muscles working as he pulled the young man to his feet.

Merlin grunted, snaking an arm around his ribs once he was upright and hunching over to take a few shortened breaths. But he stayed on his feet, which was quite an achievement as far as Arthur was concerned. 

“Can you walk?” Arthur asked, scrutinizing his manservant.

“Don’t have much—” cough “—of a choice,” he said, removing his arm from his ribs in favor of rubbing circles into his chest. Arthur frowned at the movement but didn’t voice his concern. Instead, he huffed in acknowledgement, knowing that if it came down to it, he would drag Merlin to the nearest village no matter how near or far it turned out to be. 

Arthur inched out of their hiding place, head turning left and right, sword at the ready. But the forest remained unchanged, even as the leaves crunched under his boots and a pair of roosting birds were startled into flight as Merlin came stumbling out. There were no signs of the bandits anywhere.

Arthur beckoned Merlin to follow him.

“Is that the...way to Camelot?” Merlin questioned after only a handful of steps, his voice still hoarse.

Arthur didn’t even bother to look back. “Yes,” he answered, picking up the pace.

Merlin continued, “How can you be...certain? We were unconscious for half...the journey with the bandits. We could be anywhere.”

Arthur just rolled his eyes. “I think I know where my own castle is located _Mer_ lin.”

A whispered mumble followed his declaration. “What was that, Merlin? I didn’t quite hear that.”

“Nothing.”

He snorted in amusement, maneuvering his way through the dense underbrush. A twig snapped behind him. There was a thud, and a sharp cry of pain. Arthur whirled, sword ready, and tensing for a fight. But all he found was Merlin on the ground, arm around his middle once again with a pained expression on his face and one foot caught in a root.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the sight, forcing a laugh through his teeth as he backtracked to his servant and hauled him gently to his feet. “What did I say about not dying on me Merlin?” Arthur chided, prompting Merlin forward as he kept by his servant’s side.

Merlin stumbled, grabbing Arthur’s shoulder on instinct to steady himself. “I tripped,” Merlin stated, scowling at Arthur from beneath fringe damp with sweat.

Arthur just raised an eyebrow at him before tugging Merlin along once more, this time staying by his side. “Yes and knowing you, that could have easily led to your death. Impalement by tree branch, I gander.”

Silence swallowed them, Arthur more than a little surprised that Merlin didn’t have any insult to follow his. It was...peculiar, enough to make Arthur glance over at his servant in concern. Merlin’s eyes were glued to the ground as he walked along, placing his feet with precision. Arthur would have laughed at the sight if he hadn’t noticed Merlin still held his ribs and rubbed his chest gently every few minutes with nimble fingers. 

The concern was back then. And it stayed for the remainder of their journey.

But they did reach a village after a day and a half, dodging their captors at multiple turns. It might have ended abruptly with a sword in the gullet, but with Arthur's senses on high alert, he managed to beat the bandit every time, grab Merlin, and press onward. Luck may have had a part to play when one bandit, having spotted them, was felled by a falling branch that knocked him out before he could sound the alarm. But that didn’t count. Not that Arthur was complaining. They made it to a temporary sanctuary—Arthur had managed to erase their trail as they went as best he could but was sure it wouldn’t throw the bandits off for long—and that was what mattered.

By that time though, Merlin was worse.

He had seemed to get better at first. Arthur had found a steady stream where they were able to quench their thirst and clean the gash on the back of Merlin’s head. It still hadn’t looked infected, which was a miracle, and they would just have to strive to keep it that way. But as the duo staggered into the village it was clear that something terribly wrong. 

Merlin was pale—except the rosy complexion high up on his cheeks that hinted at a fever—and sweating profusely in the cool afternoon air, wispy clouds forming with every labored breath he took. Although his cough had faded somewhat, when it did arise, it was deeper and harsher than before and Merlin’s face pinched with pain.

Arthur supported the exhausted servant as they staggered into the village, Merlin stumbling over his own feet and leaving plumes of dust in their wake. In truth, Arthur didn’t feel much better. He was weary and sore, wanting nothing more than to sleep for a whole day, maybe two. But his empty stomach and parched throat had decided to wage war, both vying for his attention while simultaneously sapping his energy. Merlin however, was Arthur’s main concern, considering how the young man looked. He didn’t even want to know what sort of picture they made as they entered the village.

Arthur wasn’t even sure the place could be qualified as a village. The forest opened up to a dirt road that cut through a handful of buildings and houses, all made with logs and planks and in some cases straw latched together to create a flimsy structure. A few small fields filled with various crops dotted the rest of the clearing here and there, the heads of villagers the only thing visible over the tops of the tall stalks. Several goats and sheep blocked half the road further on, an old man with a thick cane herding them along. Children’s laughter could be heard as a group of them weaved between the houses chasing each other, a scruffy dog nipping at their heels playfully. A woman here, a man there, going about their chores for the day and all dressed in the drab, threadbare garb of those with little to their names. 

Of course their arrival didn’t go unnoticed but nor did Arthur think the simple people of the village knew exactly who had just entered their small village. For safety reasons, he hoped to keep it that way. He didn’t want to bring the bandits down upon these people if he could help it.

“Are ye a’ight?” A portly woman asked, pausing in the sweeping of her dirt stoop to give the two of them a once over as they approached. 

Arthur grunted, hefting Merlin up as the young man began to droop. “My servant’s not. Need a room. And a healer. Quick,” he sputtered out, voice hoarse.

The woman dropped her broom and scurried toward them, her face full of concern. “O’course, milord. Bring ‘im in, bring ‘im in,” the woman stated, startling Arthur with the title. He wasted a few moments puzzling it out before realizing she had probably assumed his higher status given that he had called Merlin his servant. He would have to be careful to mind what he said from now on. 

The woman stepped forward then to help Arthur, but when he refused with a shake of his head, she just nodded and beckoning for him to follow her inside. “Laila!” she shouted toward the group of wide-eyed children who had halted their game of tag to watch the strangers. A young girl stepped out of the group, her blonde hair tangled and small hands crusted with dirt. “Fetch Henry ‘n bring ‘im ‘ere. Quick now, girl, hurry up.”

The girl—Laila—nodded, her eyes drawn to Arthur and Merlin as he pulled his servant after the older woman. Then she turned and fled in the opposite direction, bare feet kicking up dust along the dirt path.

“In ‘ere,” the woman called, holding open the rough wooden door to a small single story building. 

“You still with me Merlin?” Arthur asked, glancing at the servant still hanging off his shoulder and giving him a gentle nudge as they stepped over the threshold and into a small living quarters. 

“Yeah, ’m….fine,” was the breathy response he received. “We should...keep moving.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose, turning his head away from his companion and mimicking gagging noises. “Lords, your breath reeks,” he stated, ignoring both of his servant’s statements. “Maybe we can get some mint for you to chew on.”

“I think that’s the least of ye concerns, milord. He don’t look too good,” the woman stated as she bustled over to a small cot and pulled it closer to a slowly dying fire in the corner. 

Arthur huffed at the poor accommodations but bit back his comment. No need to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead he carried Merlin over and helped him sit upon the cot. He could tell the second he lay his servant down how hard the straw filled mattress was. Such a thing couldn’t be good for the ailing servant. None of this was. He was sure the structure of the house could be leveled by a strong breeze.

But he quickly reminded himself that anything was better than before. The hard mattress was an improvement compared to the cold ground. And here they could sleep in relative warmth and security, have access to food and water and medicine. 

As if to remind him of his need for the latter, a deep cough rattled Merlin’s shoulders, the sound reverberating off the wooden walls. The woman winced in sympathy as she handed Arthur two cups of water. He immediately drank his fill, remembering to go slowly lest he want to be sick. The he waited for Merlin’s coughing to subside.

Merlin managed to barely muffle the following coughs with his hand, his whole body shaking with the effort. The noise grated on Arthur’s ears and sent a spike of fear through his chest. 

It sounded wet. And even he knew that was not a good sign.

Merlin pulled his hand away, eyes widening as he took in the blood splattered across it. Panic stole Arthur’s breath. The woman gasped.

“I’ll make ye some stew,” she mumbled, probably regretting lending her home to such an ill traveler. 

Arthur just stared at the blood, his breath caught in his throat. After a moment he looked up at Merlin. The dark-haired young man was just as transfixed as he was, staring down at his hand in shock, eyes wide with fear. Arthur thought he would never see such a look upon his servant’s face, never see his servant anything but brave in the face of any odds. But he had now seen it twice in less than three days and that in itself, was worrying.  
“You’ll be alright, Merlin,” Arthur reassured, his steely eyes determined as he placed a comforting hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “I promise.”


	5. Chapter 5

Deep coughs echoed around the small cottage. Arthur frowned at the cheery fire dancing in the small hearth in front of him, playing idly with the spoon in the now empty bowl cupped in his hands. He was so used to the sound of the coughs now. He hated it, hated the reminder that his friend was ill, possibly deathly so, and that it was his fault. His fault that the bandits had captured them, his fault that Merlin had been dragged along, his fault that they were even out in the forest in the first place. 

A hum and a creak of a rickety wood frame snapped Arthur's attention to the small cot. The healer, an old porky man by the name of Henry who hobbled around on just one leg—a fact that instilled no confidence in Arthur at the man's skills—had gotten up from the cot where Merlin sat propped against the wall eyes closed after having been checked over for the past hour.

Arthur quickly stood as Henry grabbed his cane. "Well?"

Henry looked up, a frown lining his face. "'e's got a nasty gash on the back of 'is head that's painin' 'im quite a bit but no infection. A broken rib as well, but the bandages tell me ye already knew tha'." 

"Yes…."

Henry nodded as he continued, "I wanna say 'is trouble breathin' and the pain in 'is chest are because of 'is ribs but I'm not entirely certain. They ought not to be hinderin' 'im much since they been bound but well…" Henry trailed off, gesturing at Merlin in explanation. "'e's also got a fever and sweatin' profusely but 'is fingers have a blue tinge to them as though 'e's cold and 'e's a shiverin' as well. Not to mention there's a...a noise in 'is chest like water bubblin' and 'e's having trouble swallowin' which seems a bit odd."

Arthur winced at the list. "There was an incident with some bandits. He almost choked on his own vomit," he explained.

"Ah, I see," Henry stated, lost in thought. But after a moment he snapped back to himself and shook his head again. "I gave 'im some warm water for 'is throat but we don't got no honey 'ere which would be best. Tried to get some stew in 'im but 'e didn't eat much, only a few spoonfuls. To tell ye the truth...I don't know what be wrong."

"What?" Arthur glared at the man incredulously. "But you're a healer! How can you not know?"

"Boy, I am not knowledgeable in the craft!" Henry glared back, grey bushy eyebrows drawn together. "I be no physician. I be just an old merchant who happens to know a bit 'bout lore and speculation. The only person in this town that has journeyed from it far enough to learn other ways. But those be very few."

Arthur scrubbed a hand through his hair, pacing, his footsteps muffled by the rushes covering the packed dirt of the cottage floor. The sweet aroma of the grasses filled his nose, masking the sour smell that wafted from Merlin’s sickly sweat-soaked frame. This was beyond anything he'd had to deal with thus far and for the hundredth time he wished he had never decided to go out hunting. None of this would have happened. He could be ordering Merlin about back in his chambers, trading insults and banter as though they were mere pleasantries. Not...this. 

Arthur looked back over at Merlin. The young man sat upon the mattress, body sagging in fatigue and pain and looking down right miserable. His chest expanded with every short breath as a pale hand rubbed circles into it, trying to relieve the pain Arthur knew was there. His eyes were squeezed shut, brows drawn together in anger and pain, trousers stained with patches of blood from where he had wiped his hands upon them. He needed Gaius. Gaius would know exactly what was ailing Merlin and have the solution ready in a heartbeat. But the physician was a fair distance away, nearly a three day walk or a day and a half ride. One if they rode hard. 

Which they would have to judging by the way Merlin looked.

As if to prove his point, Merlin gave another series of loud painful coughs, body hunching in on itself as the spasms wracked his frame. His face pinched in pain with every bout.

"So you have no solution?" Arthur asked, looking back at the old healer as the coughing subsided. He pretended not to see Merlin wipe his blood-stained hand on his trousers. "You can't help him?"

Henry shifted his weight to his cane and shook his head mournfully. "'fraid not, milord."

Arthur clenched his teeth, running his hand through his hair again. But soon enough his eyes hardened and his shoulders straightened and, nodding to himself, he strode over to the cot. "We'd best be off then," he stated, bending down beside his servant and maneuvering one of the young man's arms around his shoulders. "Come on Merlin, I'm taking you to Gaius." 

"'kay," was the only response he got from the ailing servant as the two of them struggled to get Merlin to his feet.

"Milord, I must insist ye stay," said the woman, coming up behind Arthur and laying a gentle hand upon his shoulder, making him pause. "Ye won't be doin 'im any favors if ye collapse alon' the way."

Arthur knew she was right. He was exhausted and could barely keep himself on his feet. How would he be expected to get them both to Gaius in this condition? But he knew that time was important. Not only was Merlin dying—yes dying, there was no use denying it—but the bandits were still out there searching for them. He hoped they wouldn't find their trail, that he had obstructed it enough—and seeing as they hadn't been found yet he assumed he had—but they were bound to be still in the area somewhere. By morning, they could be further away, giving Arthur and Merlin a better shot of reaching the castle without crossing paths. 

Logically, his choice was obvious. But his heart still told him he needed to get Merlin to Gaius immediately and damn the consequences.

Those consequences would put Merlin's life at even more risk. And that is what fueled Arthur's decision.

"All right," Arthur stated giving in to woman's request. He still didn't like it much but if he wanted to get Merlin to Gaius alive and in one piece, it was for the best. "We'll stay but take our leave at first light. I'll need a horse and a few supplies if they can be spared. If not, I'll make do without." 

The woman nodded, her eyes straying to Merlin for a moment before settling back on Arthur. "We got not a lot around 'ere, not to the standard that ye are used to, milord, I'm sure. But Barda has a docile mare that'd be strong enough to take the two of ye wherever it be. I'll have 'im prepare her for ye travel tomorrow."

Arthur looked back at the woman in shock. He really hadn’t expected to be given much let alone a horse. A small village like this probably only had one, if even that. Arthur managed to snap out of his state of shock to say, "It would be much appreciated…?" 

"Krea, milord."

Arthur dipped his head. "Thank you, Krea, for your hospitality. I apologize if we have put you out in any way."

Krea smiled, shaking her head. "Not 't all. 'm sorry we couldn't help ye more. But 'll be sure that mare is ready for ye tomorrow. Ye get some rest now and if there be anythin' ye be needin', 'll be in the cottage across the way."

He lowered Merlin back onto the cot with a nod as Krea left, helping the young servant lay down. Immediately, Merlin's breathing became labored and shallow, his face scrunching in pain. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, panic beginning to worm its way into his lungs at the sight. Merlin wiggled, trying to get his arms underneath himself to sit back up and Arthur scrambled to help. He hoped beyond hope this wasn't the point where Merlin took a turn for the worse.

A child’s laugh cut through the air, only slightly muffled by the flimsy walls. It seemed to mock Arthur, so filled with joy and carefree.

Merlin's breathing returned to what it was before—which still wasn't preferable but definitely better than what it had been a moment earlier—once he was propped back up. He looked up at Arthur then, giving the king a small smile that looked more like a grimace.

"Thanks," he breathed. Arthur nodded in acknowledgement as he draped a blanket the woman offered him over Merlin. "'m sorry, Arthur."

"No. It's I who should apologize. This is all my fault, after all." Merlin opened his mouth to protest but Arthur held up his hand, silencing him. "I don't want to hear it. You can tell me all the absurd ways you think it was your fault after Gaius has healed you. In the meantime, get some rest and we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning." 

His order earlier for Merlin to not die on him seemed threatening now.

Arthur shook his head, dislodging the thought as he turned to the rest of the room. He noticed Henry too was no longer present and wondered how he could have missed the sound of the man leaving. Not that it mattered much. The old man wasn't much help anyway.

The noises of a busy day winding down filled the background, children being called inside, the yip of a dog, and the murmurings of the village folk as they made their way to their various cottages. Arthur closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose, the tension and energy finally leaving him after keeping him on his toes for nearly three days. It was a miracle he hadn't collapsed already. Even the blanket that Krea had laid out upon dirt floor beside Merlin's cot for him looked inviting. 

Gods he must really be tired.

But before he gave in to the sleep that pulled hard at his body, Arthur stumbled back over to Merlin's side. His gaze roved over the young man, wanting to ease him down into a more comfortable position but knowing from the last time that it would do more harm than good. Taking note of the cheeks rosy with fever, the sweat that dotted his forehead, and the steady but short rise and fall of his chest, Arthur grabbed the bucket of water Krea had provided and soaked a cloth. He placed it on Merlin's forehead, the act gaining no response from the ailing servant who had given into fatigue at long last even propped up as he was.

"Don't worry Merlin," Arthur whispered. "I'll get you to Gaius." Or die trying, he left unspoken.

Arthur left the cloth on Merlin's forehead and settled down on the floor. But despite his exhaustion, his mind swirled for a moment, keeping him awake with final thoughts of what the future held. He knew though that no matter what fate had in store for him, he was determined not to face it alone, without his servant, his best friend by his side.  
And with that, Arthur finally succumbed to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was enjoyable. Next chapter should be up some time in the next few days


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur sat upright, startled awake by the crow of a rooster. He looked around, rubbing the crustiness from his eyes as he tried to break through the sleep haze that clouded his mind and remember exactly where he was. It all came rushing back to him as his eyes landed on the cot and the miserable figure propped upon it. Arthur scrambled to his feet, his limbs heavy and sluggish. But he powered through, because if he felt tired after a few hours rest, then Merlin must be feeling ten times worse.

For it seemed like every hour or so during the night, Arthur had awoken to Merlin trying to cough up his insides. Which he very nearly did after one particularly violent bout of coughing. Instead he had thrown up what little of Krea's stew he had managed to choke down, shaking and sputtering for minutes afterwards as the memories no doubt assaulted his mind. Arthur sat beside him on the narrow cot, one arm awkwardly draped across the hunched servant's shoulders soothing him and muttering reassurances into his ear until the tears dried up and the shaking subsided to subtle twitches. It was a new role for Arthur, comforting and soothing, one that he hadn't played before. His father often reminded Arthur that princes were made of stronger stuff and shouldn't let their emotions show. That was for the women folk.

But that didn't matter now. His father was gone and Arthur could do as he pleased, run his kingdom as he saw fit. And if his friend was in need of comfort then he'd be damned if he didn't provide it. If there had been anyone else present at that time, he wouldn't have been so forthcoming and more subtle. But alone in the cottage, he could let his noble and kingly demeanor fade and just be the friend that Merlin desperately needed.

And it was that same friend that would see Merlin to Gaius swiftly and safely.

Arthur supported the servant out of the cottage, the sheath of his sword bouncing against his thigh with every blundering step they took. The sights and sounds of the village folk at work assaulted his senses, the children scampering around giggling and laughing; the steady pang of a hammer against rock or iron; the usual chatter of trade and favors taking place amongst the inhabitants. A shabby but sturdy brown mare stood in the middle of the dirt road, a middle aged man stroking her muzzle as Krea fixed a small saddlebag to her along with a water skin. They were meager supplies, but Arthur didn't expect much from these people, and frankly he didn't want it either. They had little to begin with had had given the two of them enough as it was. Besides, he didn't plan to stop along the way unless absolutely vital. The sooner he got Merlin to the citadel, the better.

"Thank you," Arthur said as he helped Merlin into the saddle, the older man moving to the other side to ensure the servant stayed atop. "For everything. I will be sure you are compensated for the kindness you have shown us."

"Take care of me girl here," the middle aged man—Barda, Arthur assumed—said, patting the mare's neck fondly. "She be the only thing left of my father's wealth. Raised her meself."

"I ensure you she will be well cared for and returned safely to you." Arthur mounted the horse, settling behind Merlin in the saddle. He glanced down at the villagers beside him taking note of the others who had paused in what they were doing to watch them depart. "Thank you, all of you, for your hospitality. I won't soon forget it." 

Krea and Barda nodded, the latter giving the mare one final pat before stepping back. Arthur nudged the horse into a canter, raising a hand to wave farewell, the other firmly but carefully holding onto Merlin in front him.

As soon as they reached the tree line, Arthur spurred the mare on faster. Time was crucial, speed a necessity. He wasn't sure exactly how fast or long he could push the mare, but he was determined to find out. He didn't want to completely exhaust the animal or run her to breaking point but he would if he had to. At this moment, nothing was more important than getting Merlin to Gaius as quickly as possible. A pang of guilt shot up Arthur's gut. He had promised that farmer that his mare would be well cared for and yet that could very well turn out to be a lie. 

But the mare held up well, despite carrying two people and keeping up a hard pace. Arthur could tell the ride wasn't easy on Merlin, the gasps and groans of pain and harsh coughing evident enough of that. However, aside from taking a few short breaks here and there, there was little Arthur could do. He just had to hope that the time and ground they covered were enough to make up for any damage sustained. And as the temperature rose and the sun made its way higher into the sky, the weight in Arthur’s gut began to slowly lift and his hope rise. It soared with the birds high above the trees, his heart filled with faith as it beat in cadence with the clomp of the mare’s hooves. They’d reach the castle in no time and then Merlin would be resting in the safe and capable hands of Gaius, healing.

"Stop," the breathy word grabbed Arthur's attention just passed midday. "Arthur, stop, please…" It was louder this time, more urgent. "I—I need to stop." 

Panic clenched Arthur's heart and he pulled on the reins, jumping from the saddle even before the mare came to a complete stop. Merlin followed a moment later. sliding from the saddle, whether on purpose or not, Arthur couldn't tell. He just steadied the mare and supported Merlin to the ground.

The hacking coughs began almost immediately, causing Merlin to double over. He crashed to his knees on the dirt road, one hand supporting himself the other firmly over his mouth as if that alone could stop the coughing. Arthur rubbed the young man’s back, giving him what little comfort he could. His other hand he kept on the hilt of his sword, searching the surrounding forest for any sign of danger. He knew there was a small chance that the bandits had given up, had deemed them long gone and not worth the trek, but he was unwilling to risk it. Better to be on his guard and ready than be taken unawares. 

The forest was silent though, except for the occasional birdsong and the rustle of leaves as they fluttered from one branch to another. Arthur gazed about the still forest, every sense alert for anything out of place. There was barely a breeze winding through the trees, but the air was still crisp and cool nonetheless. It was the perfect weather to go out for a ride, as was evident by their current predicament and how they had landed in it. It seemed bandits enjoyed the weather just as much.

Merlin’s coughing paused as the young man hunched over to breathe. A twig snapped off to Arthur’s right, the sound barely audible over Merlin's wheezing but no longer drowned out by his harsh coughs. Arthur whipped his head toward the sound, eyes searching the trees as he sidled closer to Merlin. His hand closed firmly around his sword, ready to pull it free of its sheath in a heartbeat. 

"Merlin, we have to go," he whispered, ducking his head so the young man could hear him. All the while he never stopped searching the trees. Arthur tensed as movement caught his eye. He saw Merlin give a nod out of the corner of his eye. But before the young man could stand, another coughing fit raged through him and he hunched further over. 

Arthur saw more movement coming from all around him but by then it was too late to retreat. He shouted a warning to Merlin just as the first bandit fell upon him, sword swinging deftly forcing Arthur to duck in order to not be decapitated. He met the man's next attempt, the sound of metal on metal echoing through the forest as he kept himself between Merlin and the bandit. But soon enough another bandit joined the battled and another swiftly behind. 

Arthur considered himself to be a very skilled swordsman, the best in Camelot if not the five kingdoms, but after only a few thrusts and parries, his arms felt heavy. Sweat beading on his forehead with the strain of fighting. Merlin's coughing continued to fill the background, broken only by a few mutterings here and there but Arthur was unable to discern what the young man was saying. He was too focused on trying to keep his sword in his hands and his head on his shoulders, a feat that was proving more and more difficult with each blow. Arthur’s arm went numb with a particularly hard blow. His grip slipped after another. A sword grazed his arm. Parry left. Thrust right. Dodge back. Parry. Block. Block right. Block left. Duck. Block.

And his mind kept wandering to Merlin, worrying flooding his veins as he continued to hear him cough and sputter over the clang of swords and the grunts of men. It made Arthur narrow his focus and press harder despite the strain, to push passed the numbness and ignore the heaviness of his limbs. Merlin was relying on him.

And he would fight until his last breath if he had to.

Luck seemed to once again be on his side, at least a little, as one of the bandits was nearly crushed by a falling branch, another almost dropping his sword. But each time the bandits recovered quickly, continuing the fight moments later as though nothing had happened.

"Cease your fighting, or the brat will cease his breathing."

Only then did Arthur realize the forest was quiet once more, no longer echoing with the sound of coughing.

Dread ran like a river through Arthur's veins as he dodged another thrust. The bandits before him took a step back, out of his range but leveled their swords at him, sneers on their faces. Arthur glanced behind him. Merlin was kneeling in the dirt as before, only this time there was a sword at his throat and a hand tangled viciously in his hair. Arthur recognized the bandit immediately. 

Carlin flashed him a smirk.

The dread came to a stop, pooling in his stomach. He wouldn't risk Merlin's life, not now, not ever. His eyes caught Merlin's, the hard glare the servant sent him begging him to not give in, to leave him be and fight his way out of this. But the look was dampened by the pain and fatigue that had taken root in his eyes and that is what made Arthur's decision for him.

He threw his sword down and raised his hands in surrender. Merlin's eyes closed, whether in shame or guilt, Arthur didn't know. But he would live, at that was what mattered. 

"There's a good lad," Carlin said, face softening in mockery. He nodded to the rest of the bandits. Hands grabbed Arthur's arms and yanked them painfully behind his back. He didn't struggle, didn't make a sound except a grunt as rough rope was once again wrapped tightly around his wrists. But if glares could kill, Carlin would have been long dead by now.

Carlin tsked, breaking his gaze away from Arthur and looking down at Merlin still firmly in his grasp. He slowly ran the flat of his blade along the servant's furiously bobbing throat in a poor imitation of a lover's caress.

Arthur watched Carlin jerk the sword away as Merlin began coughing anew. With a look of pure disgust, he threw Merlin to the ground, wiping his hand on his trousers as though to rid himself of any disease he might have caught. Arthur would have laughed if the situation wasn't so dire. Instead, he saw Merlin hunch over again, hacking and coughing. The bile and blood that splattered the dirt road caused all the bandits to take a step back in revulsion. 

"What kind of illness is this?" Carlin asked, anger and horror evident in his tone.

Arthur stayed silent, panic and worry holding his tongue as Merlin's coughing fit didn't let up. The young man was shaking and crying in pain, tears mingling with the thin line of blood hanging from his pale lips. His arm was barely supporting his frail body, seemingly so small curled up on the side of the road.

"Let's go. Before we all get the demon in us," Carlin said, breaking Arthur from his daze. He jerked his head and a moment later Arthur was hauled to his feet and pulled along. Merlin was left where he was, still lost in a world of sickness and pain. The men gave him a wide berth as they passed. 

"No!" Arthur shouted, as the bandits' intentions became clear. He struggled against the men holding him but it was in vain. His feet scrambled on the ground trying to find purchase, leaves crunching underfoot. "You can't just leave him! He needs a physician. Let me take him to the physician."

Carlin didn't even spare Arthur a glance, keeping his gaze forward on the road ahead. "He's as good as dead anyway," was all he said in response.

Arthur cursed and struggled, insulted and berated and shouted Merlin's name. But it was no use. He watched, the distance growing between them as Merlin's fit ceased and he slumped to the ground, unconscious or dead, Arthur didn't know. It was the last thing he saw as Carlin threw a sack over his head and the world around him, the one where Merlin was still alive and by his side, disappeared from view.


	7. Chapter 7

His boots sank into the soft ground, twigs and underbrush snapping underfoot. The soft but determined footfalls of his unwanted companions surrounded him, their grasps bruising on his arms. He grit his teeth in frustration, tears of anger and helplessness threatening to spill from his eyes. 

Arthur knew they had left the main road a while back. He had no idea where he was, or where the bandits were taking him. His senses were filled with the putrid smell and faint light filtering through the sack as the cheerful songs of birds high in the trees mocked him. The bandits around him talked humorously, cracking jokes at his expense and laughing at ones Arthur didn't comprehend. He took a deep breath, the warmth of his own breath doing nothing to make him feel less trapped. 

But this was nothing compared to what he had left behind.

Merlin was still back there, on the side of the road unconscious or even dead. And there was nothing Arthur could do about it. He had tried. Gods, how he had tried. His head still rang from the hits he had received, his knees and face scraped up from the number of times his body had greeted the ground after being tripped up or managing to do it himself as he struggled. But the bandits were unwavering. With four of them surrounding him, pulling him along and ensuring he stayed on the right path even if they had to drag him along, he was completely at their mercy.

So he kept trudging along, putting up a fight every once in a while, trying to catch his captors off guard.

"Bloody kings," one of the bandits growled, yanking Arthur forward as he tried to worm his way out of the man's grasp. The course ropes dug into his wrists sending a spike of pain up his arms. The old wounds there had broken two escape attempts ago and blood was once again dripping down Arthur’s hands. "Such high maintenance." 

Arthur sneered at the man from beneath the sack but kept quiet.

Ahead, Carlin let out a chuckle. "His servant was probably thankful to be left behind. Put out of his misery."

All rational thought evaporated from his mind instantly and with a scream of outrage, Arthur launched himself in Carlin's direction. By some miracle, this time he managed to rip his arms out of his captors hands, his anger and momentum carrying him forward. His body slammed into another, sharp elbows and scrambling hands jabbing into his chest and sides but he paid them no mind. They went down, Arthur landing on top of the man, feeling the hilt of a sword poking into his hip. He jammed his knee into soft flesh, his head onto what felt like a shoulder, any part of his body he could use to cause harm with, he did.

He put all his rage, all the pain and misery behind every blow he dealt. A hand jammed into his ribs, a knee into his thigh but Arthur didn't let up. This was for Merlin, for Camelot, hell even for the small village that helped him and Barda who had entrusted him with his prized mare that he may never be able to return. All his guilt and frustration at the whole situation he found himself and Merlin in. 

There was shouting around him, including Carlin, sprawled beneath Arthur yelling insults and threats at both Arthur and his own men alike. Around him, boots scraping across rocks and leaves, clothes rustling as the rest of the men hastened to pull Arthur off of Carlin.

Hands grabbed his shoulders, bruising and painful as they threw him bodily off Carlin and held him down. He snarled, shouting insults and threats of his own, his anger and pain fueling his hate. But a punch to the gut silenced him, forcing him to gasp to regain his breath.

He heard more rustling and scraping of boots a few paces away as Carlin got to his feet and the hands holding him increased in pressure. There was silence for a beat. Then booted footsteps approached soft and deliberate like a wolf stalking prey. Arthur tensed in his sprawled position. 

"Once we have handed you over," Carlin whispered, his voice threatening, "I'll make sure to come back for his half-eaten decomposing body and string it up in your cell. As a gift." His hand caressed Arthur’s head through the sack, gentle as it mocked him, sending shivers down his spine.

Arthur shook his head to dislodge the hand and opened his mouth to retort, to insult, berate, threaten, anything. But a sharp pain exploded across the left side of his head and he fell into black.

*-----*-----*-----*

A pounding headache raged through Arthur's skull as he came back to awareness. A pungent heated smell invaded his nostrils almost immediately and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. It was then that Arthur became aware of footfalls, steady and determined surrounding him as something scrapped along dirt and leaves and the low chatter of men reached his ears. Through the pain in his head, Arthur barely registered another pain flaring in his wrists dulled slightly by a pressure there and the jostling of his whole body with movement as something rubbed against his back. He opened his eyes, determined to find out exactly what was going on and whether or not he could blame Merlin for it all. 

Merlin.

Arthur's heart sank as the memories of the last few days came back to him. He stared ahead, no longer seeing the thick, tightly woven threads of the gloomy sack. He understood whom he was with and that he was now being literally dragged along to who knows where but it didn't matter. The anger, pain, and anguish for his ill and now missing friend came roaring back to him anew, spearing his heart and leaving a gaping wound. 

Arthur shifted, struggling against the ropes around his wrists. Dried blood and scabs broke and bled but he kept at it. But the movement of his body stopped, the rubbing against his back halting and the pressure around his wrists abated. Footsteps approached and soon hands grabbed at him, hauling him to unsteady feet. His head made its displeasure known and Arthur was terrified for a second that he would follow Merlin's example and lose the contents of his stomach, but he forced himself to breathe, to keep what little food he had in him where it belonged.

"The king has arisen," Carlin' s voice boomed. Arthur winced as pain lanced through his skull. "About time, your majesty. I was beginning to worry that I would have to haul you in front of our boss unconscious." 

A bandit to Arthur's left snorted in amusement. Hands grasped his upper arms, pulling him along as the group trudged their way through the undergrowth again.

"Wh—where are you taking me?" Arthur asked, tongue heavy and thick with lack of use.

Carlin tutted. "Do you not understand the point of the sack, dear king? Really I thought it was quite clear."

"So I am not to even know where I am being dragged or why? Is it money you desire? I will pay you whatever you want—"

Laughter from all sides cut Arthur's bargaining off. He scowled.

"We are being well compensated for our services so don't even bother. Though it is quite entertaining to listen to a king beg for his freedom. Feel free to continue. We could use some entertainment."

"Hopefully we'll get some later on though," a bandit to Arthur's right added. An elbow jabbed into his side painfully.

"Yes, hopefully. I do wish to see this play out."

Not bandits then. Mercenaries. Mercenaries meant someone had hired them, someone who clearly wanted him alive. Someone with a fair bit of money and riches to offer for such services.

Arthur mind was whirling. He should have realized it from the beginning, from the second the bandits—mercenaries—had mentioned working for another after Merlin's head had been bashed days ago. Clearly a bigger plot was in the works, one that had been unforeseen. They weren't out for revenge—else he would be dead already—and were apparently being paid handsomely for his capture and delivery. But these men were not the real threat. Whoever he was being taken to was the real enemy. 

Arthur was broken out of his thoughts as his surroundings changed. The cool depths of the forest spit them out into the sunlight. Light filtered through the interlocking threads of the sack and Arthur blinked at the change, his head making its displeasure known. The laughter and chatter of cityfolk reached his ears, washing away the silence and serenity of the forest. But the sounds were slightly muffled, as though something still stood between them. Arthur hoped he wasn't about to be dragged through the streets, blind, bound and a little worse for wear, paraded in front of judgmental eyes like a fallen warrior. He didn't need that. In Arthur's opinion, he already was one the second he had failed Merlin. 

Unforgiving stone and cobbles attempted to trip him up as the party came to halt. Someone knocked out a sequence on a wooden door, the sound reverberating loudly through a hallway on the other side. Arthur strained his senses, hoping to get a hint of his surroundings before he had to face whoever it was that ordered his capture. He didn't want to be caught unaware any more than he already had been.

A few beats passed. Arthur shifted, gritting his teeth to keep himself from snarling words that would do no good. He just had to bid his time and wait for an opportune moment. And maybe by some miracle, Merlin had managed to get himself some help or flag down a Camelot patrol. His knights were bound to be looking for him by now. It was a long shot but one that Arthur would hold onto. That's all he could do.

Unoiled hinges screamed in protest as the door was opened. Arthur straightened, determined to face this new threat with his head held high. 

"Take him to the throne room. Down the corridor and to the right. He'll be joining you shortly," a deep voice said from beyond the entrance.

Arthur tensed. Throne room. That implied royalty, a castle, someone's kingdom. And with the distance they had traveled—he assumed that they hadn't traveled far with him unconscious as it was still light out—this had to be a kingdom bordering Camelot. With treaties still currently in place, the list of likely candidates narrowed considerably.

"Come along kingy," Carlin mocked. Hands and swords alike pushed Arthur forward, forcing him to walk blindly into the belly of the beast. Cool air greeted him, foreboding and threatening, ghosting over his skin and leaving gooseflesh in its wake. There was a sense of finality as he marched along, like the moment he had entered the castle his fate and the fate of others had been sealed. Like the place had a claim on him and now that he was within its depths, it wouldn't let him go. Not without a price.

The group turned, hands back to grabbing his arms painfully as they steered him along. Arthur tried to brush them off, wanting to regain what little dignity he could before he faced his enemy but the hands only tightened. He winced at the pressure.

Finally they reached their destination, the quieter echoing footsteps of the group signaling their entrance into a larger room. A few steps in and the hands on his arms moved to his shoulders, adding pressure. Arthur winced as his knees hit the stones, the crack reverberating around the room. 

Arthur straightened as much as the man beside him would allow. Whatever he was about to face, he would do it with pride. These mercenaries had seen him reduced to begging and pleading but no more. He would no longer show that side of himself. After all—Arthur winced—Merlin was no longer by his side as leverage so there was nothing more he needed to beg for. His life wasn't as important. He had to be strong, be a king. For his people and his kingdom. If it came down to it, he knew Gwen would be able to lead Camelot with strength and wisdom without him.

Shuffling around him signaled a change in atmosphere. An arm brushed the side of his head, clothing rustled as a few mercenaries around him shifted their weight. A cough echoed around the chamber. Someone had entered the room, someone important.

There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that he was now in the presence of the master of these mercenaries. The person who had paid them for his retrieval. The king of this castle.

He straightened, perking his ears for any hint of who this person may be. A movement to his right made him tense as he felt someone reaching toward him. The sack was suddenly ripped from his head and light assaulted his vision, blinding him to his surroundings. He blinked a couple of times to restore his vision.

"Arthur, we meet again. Though this time, under no promise of a treaty of peace."

Arthur tensed further as his eyes adjusted to the light and the room around him slowly came into focus. He knew that voice. He had heard it before many years ago, shuffled among others of similar weight and authority yet lured together by great promises of peace. Peace, which had now been broken as Arthur finally took in the balding, rat-like man before him, his ever present sly servant fluttering just behind him.

"Alined."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alined is sorely underused in fanfics and I feel like he has great potential. Wonderfully deliciously evil potential. Let's find out, shall we?


	8. Chapter 8

It was Carlin's blade that had triggered it. One second Merlin was facing Arthur, a filthy hand twisted in his hair, forcing his head back and exposing his vulnerable throat, the next he was on the ground hacking up his insides as fire raged through his body.

He had tried to convey to Arthur to not give up, to leave him to die and save himself. It wasn't like Merlin had long anyway. He could feel his body failing, taken by the strange sickness that sapped his strength and tore up his insides. But of course the damn prat didn't listen. Too noble for his own good.

The caress of the blade sliding along the outside of his throat seemed to tickle the inside, to remind his body that there was something within it that very badly wanted out. Merlin hardly felt the dirt and rocks embedding themselves in his palms as he was thrown to the roadside, too occupied with ridding his lungs of whatever ailed them. It didn't work.

Every breath felt like his chest was being ripped open, like a beast was inside his lungs taking up all the space and trying to rip its way out through his ribs. His throat felt raw and torn, his chest on fire, his head hammering painfully in rhythm with his erratic heartbeat. Merlin tried to take a breath, tried to fill his lungs with life and exhale the burning but it only caused the raging beast in his lungs to claw at his insides even harder. He coughed and sputtered in a futile attempt for air, for relief, for anything. But the motion only made it worse. Blood and bile splattered the ground in front of him, droplets painting a bleak portrait on the back of his shaking hands as his throat burned even more. He was choking again, drowning in a wave of his own sick, feeling it burn at his lungs and throat, killing him as it almost had before. He panicked. Tears streamed down his face as his airways constricted, lungs shrinking in on themselves as the beast tore at his chest. His vision narrowed, midnight waters pulling him under. Someone was shouting his name—Arthur, it could only be Arthur and Merlin needed to help him—but it was distant, faint as Merlin was rendered deaf to all but the pounding in his head. The waters closed over then, pulling him under, leaving the conscious world and Arthur on the surface.

~*~*~*~*~

Awareness returned as Merlin's chest constricted and his throat closed up. He gasped, trying to fill his lungs. They protested, instead opting to disobey and expel precious air. His limbs twitched, dragging along the dirt weakly as deep coughs wracked his body once more. But like every other moment, the act only made it worse. Every cough felt like the beast inside was to finally make his escape, killing his host in the process. Another cough tore through him, a stream of fluids following close behind to mix and mingle with those already littering the road side. He could feel his magic, feel it thrumming deep within, but it was feeble and weak, smothered by the very illness it may very well cure.

Finally he gasped in air, small in quantity but high in quality to his starved lungs. And with the air came the memories, the realization that he needed to find Arthur, needed to make sure he was alright and unharmed. Merlin moved his hand in order to lever himself up but the blackness was already encroaching. He tried to push it away, to keep it at bay. But too soon, his body fell limp and darkness swallowed his mind.

~*~*~*~*~

Something nudged his head, bringing him back to the waking world. The pain in his chest returned full force as his mind awoke, his body automatically curling tighter upon itself as he lay sprawled on his side. Another nudge to his head pushed his cheek into the dirt, rocks biting into the soft flesh. Hot air rustled his hair, brushing past his ear. Breathing, Merlin realized. Someone was breathing on him.

"'th'r," he slurred, attempting to open his eyes and show his king that he was still alive, still here. He had no doubt Arthur was worried, had been worried the entire time Merlin had been unconscious. Hell, Merlin was worried too. He had never felt an illness like this before, never been in so much pain without a puncture wound or burn to prove it. It was like his body was at war with itself, blows being exchanged within and tearing his insides to pieces.

But he was more worried about Arthur. Despite the act the king put up, Merlin knew he was wrought with fear. He could see it in the wintry eyes, shining bright with concern and fear as he had soothed Merlin just hours ago—or was it days, everything was a little muddled in Merlin's head. It was a side of the king that he rarely ever saw, one he knew was only brought out when Arthur was extremely distraught.

Merlin needed to quell that fear as best he could and remaining unconscious would not help.

Finally, his eyelids peeled back with effort. The forest before him was nothing more than smudges of dark greens and hazy browns, everything blurred and dizzyingly unfocused. Light was dim, and Merlin thanked the gods for it, sure that with the way his his head was throbbing, it would not have been able to take much.

Something large and long landed an arm's length from his face, dust kicking up with the force. Merlin startled, blinking a couple of times until he could make out the blurry form of a large brown hoof. He frowned.

"'th'r?" He repeated, questioning now.

A beat passed, then two. There was movement above him and then a large snout filled Merlin's vision just before it nudged him on the forehead. He froze.

A horse. It had been a horse that had nudged him. But why was there a horse here—

It all came back to him then.

The bandits. The ambush. Carlin. And Arthur fighting and... Arthur had given up had surrendered for him. It was because of him that Arthur was now...

Merlin's heart beat furiously in his rib cage.

He knew he needed to move, knew that he needed to do something but just lay there. Arthur was in danger, perhaps even dead. No, he couldn't think like that he...he just couldn't. What was it...what had the bandits said all those days ago? Merlin tried hard to think but his mind was slow and confused, drunk on the onslaught of pain and fatigue that continued to plague his body. But that didn't matter much. He needed to move, to get upright to go after Arthur because clearly his king wasn't here. That's what mattered. He could work out the details later.

And it seemed the horse had stuck around. Luck hadn't totally abandoned him then.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Merlin dragged his body to a half sitting half-sprawled position. His his limbs were heavy, his heart thrumming painfully through his whole body as his breaths wheezed in and out of his raw throat and blazing chest. And the change in position didn't help. He could feel it, the need to expel whatever it was in his lungs, to rid his body of it. Merlin shook his head as though the display of denial would stop the fit before it began. But it only helped it along as his head throbbed in protest of the movement and he gasped. That was all the incentive his lungs decided they needed.

All his effort getting to his feet was shown to be for naught in a heartbeat. He collapsed again, hunching over and curling in on himself as coughs raged through him like blades, slicing and cutting as they escaped. His broken ribs screamed with every movement, his lungs and throat burning, eyes watering, head throbbing, all creating a beautifully crafted orchestra to accompany his death. The forest around him disappeared, the horse's soft whinny, the clop of her hooves as she stomped. The outside world narrowed until all he knew was the pain in his body and the harsh coughing that filled his ringing ears.

A moment later a hand rested on his back and Merlin jolted, ripping more painful coughs from him. Another hand snaked under his shoulder, easing the weight off his failing limbs. He struggled, trying to push away from the support, sure that the bandits were back to finish him off. And as likely as he was to die of the illness, he was damned if he did it before he got his king back safely. Though that task seemed highly unlikely given his current state. But he had to try.

"—lin. Stop," broke through Merlin's hazing mind as his fit died down and wheezing breaths filled his world. "You'll….damn it….what the hell...with him."

He knew that voice. Gwaine.

Merlin opened his eyes, lids drooping with fatigue and pain as he stared at the ground below him. But only one thought raced through his mind. He needed to tell the knight about Arthur, about the danger he was in. Someone needed to go after him now.

He tried to move to angle his head so he could peer up at the man holding him up, to tell him what became of their king but his muscles remained unresponsive. Panic began to well up in him.

And then the world tilted, vertigo crashing over Merlin sickeningly. But just as quickly, it stopped. His vision filled with orange and yellow, painting the sky in sweeping colors, creating a beautiful backdrop to the darkening canopy of the trees. Merlin marveled at it for a moment until movement to his right grabbed his attention and a face obstructed his view. Brown wavy hair came into focus, the dimming light throwing the man's rough features into shadows.

"Gwaine," he began to say but the name made no sound. He tried again, gasping as he felt no air reach his lungs. He renewed his struggling, trying to turn, to sit up, to do anything but feel the weight that was so suddenly pressing down on his chest and preventing his lungs from filling. Air, he needed air.

"—calm down," he heard Gwaine say but the knight's voice was getting dimmer and dimmer. "...just me….it's ok….Percival, help—," but the rest of the words were drowned out as waves roared in Merlin's ears. He clawed at the knight's chainmail in a panic, weak fingers sliding uselessly along smooth metal trying to get his attention and tell him of Arthur. His consciousness was wavering. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint, Gwaine's panicking face blurring in and out of focus. He barely felt strong arms as they wrapped around him and lifted him up before the waves crashed over and he was dragged down into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all you Merlin whump lovers out there enjoyed that (I sure enjoyed writing it...that's horrible, I know). Don't hesitate to leave a comment telling me what you thought.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok yes hi I know this is like SUPER late and all that and I swear I'm still writing this story and have in no way abandoned it. Just had SOOOOOO much to do this last month with a full feature film and then a few shorts and now here in December with Christmas blowing up my etsy and well...you guys don't wanna hear all the excuses. Let's just get to the good part shall we?! And now...ONWARD!
> 
> (PS: this chapter is Gwaine's POV of finding Merlin though I'm sure you'll all figure that out quick enough. Enjoy!)

"I'm telling you, she wasn't human, I'm sure of it," Gwaine said, his voice carrying through the sun-dappled forest, accompanied by the steady clop of horse hooves on the dirt road as the small patrol made the last of their rounds. "No one can bend like that and not—"

"Gwaine as much as we all would enjoy hearing about another one of your conquests," Elyan interrupted, glancing behind him at the brash knight, "do shut it."

A chuckle sounded from the rest of the knights.

Gwaine ignored the request, grinning instead with amusement. "Jealousy is unbecoming of you Elyan. You know, I know many a lass who would love to get their hands on you. Be nice and I might just send one your way."

"Oh gods, no please don't," Elyan begged, scrunching his nose in disgust. "I do not want to know the sort of women you surround yourself with, let alone lay with one that has been with your sorry arse."

Gwaine opened his mouth to retort only to be silenced as Leon held up a hand. Their party ground to a halt, instantly alert to whatever had caught Leon's attention. It was most likely nothing but a bird or foraging squirrel. Leon tended to think everything was a threat, including voluptuous, overly flirtatious barmaids and drunken tavern brawls but that was a story for another time.

Gwaine swept his eyes through the slowly darkening forest, his bored gaze sweeping over each branch tickled by the soft breeze, every bird swooping through the boughs as he attempted to listen for any whisper that didn't belong. What he wouldn't give for a nap and a tankard of mead right about now, not necessarily in that order but both needed to make this patrol go by faster or liven it up. The Rising Sun was bound to be filling up about now, Jocosa sauntering about the tables in her long skirts that barely reached the top of her soft worn slippers. If she happened to bend over just right you could catch a glimpse of her tantalizing ankles which was not a goal Gwaine tried to fulfill every trip he took to the tavern. And he most definitely wasn't always successful.

"What is it?" Gwaine hissed, snapping himself back to the present. He heard nothing—not that he was paying much attention but how could one do so with barmaids flirting through their thoughts—just the soft steps of the knights' mounts as they shifted restlessly.

Leon's eyebrows furrowed as he stared intently at the road ahead, his look resembling that of deaf Jon struggling to understand Gwaine's drunken slurring. "I thought I heard—"

A sound broke through the silence then, distant and indistinguishable but perhaps human if Gwaine was to put any characteristic to it. Though he could be wrong as he had once mistaken a ferret for a dog but in his defense he had been drunk off his arse and he swore the thing had barked at him though it could have also spoken to him. Not his proudest moment but definitely a great story to tell. Another time though, when Leon wasn't all serious and hell bent on finding this mysterious clearly-a-threat-to-all-of-Camelot noise.

He looked ahead down the road, but there was nothing to see but trees, trees, and oh look yes, more trees. And wasn't he glad he became a knight of Camelot. How else would he be able to see such glorious sights. He glanced over at Percival, cocking an eyebrow in question but the large knight just shook his head.

Without a word, Leon signaled them on and set a fast pace down the beaten road. Which Gwaine wasn't exactly happy about as he might still be slightly drunk from the night before. And this morning. And midday.

As they got closer, the noise became more and more distinguishable until Gwaine could clearly hear the deep, hacking coughs echoing painfully around the forest. Whoever was making such a ruckus must be on their last breaths, surely. Or coughing up one of the largest hairballs the world has ever seen and therefore was not human at all and possibly some giant cat or a lion—those are very much the same though so really Gwaine was pretty confident he was right. They probably shouldn't approach then. But the poor sod—be it man or giant feline—hadn't let up since they first heard him. And no he was definitely human, that much Gwaine could make out. Or her. A beautiful fair maiden in need of a dashing knight's rescue would be luck indeed.

As they rounded the bend, the trees shifted to reveal a sturdy brown mare standing by the side of the road. She let out a whinny in warning at the sight of the approaching knights, kicking up dust as she side-stepped, revealing a figure at her feet. Gwaine's eyes immediately alighted upon the hunched form on the ground, the thin inexplicably male frame rattling as coughs exploded out of him, barely holding himself upright on a pale shaking arm. He was slightly disappointed that it wasn't a maiden in distress but that only lasted about a heartbeat before he noticed the very familiar mop of dark hair. Then all thoughts of maidens, mead, and giant felines were shooed from his mind. Well, maybe not mead. That was always on his mind. And on his person.

"Merlin?" Gwaine asked aloud to no one in particular as clearly the man in question was deaf to anything but his own plight. His eyes widened with fear and realization as dread plummeted in his stomach like a rock in a lake, brain finally putting together what was happening to his friend. And now mead is definitely no longer on his mind.

With a firm nudge of his heels into the horse's flank, Gwaine picked up his pace, overtaking a stunned Percival and Leon as the two slowed and stared uncomprehendingly at the painfully familiar man. And really Gwaine didn't mind much. Merlin was his friend after all and he had made it his personal duty to look after the younger man. Which he clearly was failing at but would mend in a heartbeat. Before the horse had even come to a full stop, Gwaine leapt from the saddle, landing a few paces from his friend's side and quickly closed the distance. He crouched down beside Merlin whose bone-rattling harsh coughing had yet to let up—like the time old man Felim had drunk a mixture of four different alcohols that Gwaine had definitely not dared him to down—leaving the man gasping and panting when his body allowed him beats of reprieve. A dark stain on the road caught his eye and Gwaine shifted his gaze. Fear closed like a fist around his lungs, stealing his breath as he took in the mixture of vomit, bile and blood pooled innocently in the dirt a hand's breadth from Merlin's crouched form. Whatever Gwaine had been thinking was ailing his friend before, scattered at the sight. This was much worse, so much worse than drinking a foul concoction of alcohols in one go.

Gwaine tore his gaze away from the filth and finally got a closer look at the lanky servant.

Merlin's eyes were squeezed shut, outlined in deep shadows that hung like dark bags below, weighted down with fatigue and pain, and Gwaine would definitely forgo a nap if Merlin would just take one in his stead. His skin was pale, unhealthy, almost waxy, the only sign of life being the rosy splotches high up on his cheekbones that hinted at a high fever. His whole body shook with every cough, almost to the point of convulsions and one arm was curled so tightly around his torso that Gwaine was sure he was pained by more than just chest ache from the coughs. Perhaps he had lost a bet with a drunk mercenary and ended up antagonizing the ugly man much more than said man thought was funny. And to top it all off, a thin dark strip of fabric was tied around the servant's head, half hidden by his unruly mop of hair. Battling a head injury as well then. A run-in with a drunk mercenary was looking more and more probable.

"Merlin?" Gwaine repeated, resting a hand gently on his friend's back, concerned but knowing that Merlin was going to be fine because Merlin was always fine.

Merlin jumped beneath Gwaine's hand, startled as if someone had just hit him in the face with a foul-smelling rotten egg. The movement ripped another deep cough from him, followed by more that got progressively worse. Gwaine winced, guilt flooding him as the painful sounds grated on his ears. He quickly snaked an arm underneath Merlin, supporting the young man as his arm gave way. It reminded Gwaine of the time a pretty brunette barmaid literally fell into his arms except the sick and blood, both crusted dry and damp, that stained Merlin's tunic beneath Gwaine's hand, the threadbare fabric warm with the unnatural heat that radiated from the servant's skin. His stomach dropped, a feeling of dreadful weightlessness overtaking him at the seriousness of Merlin's ailment.

Merlin started struggling then, body twisting and squirming weakly as his hands scratched at Gwaine's arm and the dirt road below, trying to get away, the exact opposite of the swooning barmaid, but now was not the time to be having such thoughts. The servant's body was still shaking with every cough, chest heaving and rattling under Gwaine's palm but they were dying down now. Gwaine just held him, his grip firm but gentle as he tried to get through to his friend.

"Merlin, it's me. It's Gwaine," the knight soothed, not sure if he was imitating placating angry drunks and underpaid barkeeps or the time he had to care for his little sister after a spider the size of a mouse crawled into her bed. The smallest bit of relief flooded through him though as the coughing died down, but Merlin still continued to struggle albeit feebly. "It's just me, Merlin. Stop. You'll hurt yourself. Damn it. I'm trying to help you."

The coughing ceased altogether then, leaving a gasping and wheezing Merlin in its wake, his struggles weak, body almost pliant in Gwaine's arms. It would have been a funny sight if not for the pallor of Merlin's skin and the fact that he was clearly struggling just to breathe. Gwaine turned his head, taking his eyes off Merlin for the first time since he had first spotted him. His gaze found the others, dismounted and standing no more than a pace away, their faces lined with the same concern and fear that Gwaine was sure mirrored his own. "What the hell is wrong with him?"

Percival shook his head, speechless, his gaze glued to Merlin hanging limply in Gwaine's arms.

"He's obviously ill with...something," Leon said, taking a page out of Arthur's book and stating the obvious as though the whole damn kingdom couldn't see that for themselves. And speaking of Arthur, where was the princess? But Gwaine pushed the thought aside in favor of shooting Leon an unamused glare. Leon however wasn't looking at Gwaine nor Merlin. His eyes roved over the surrounding forest, searching and Gwaine knew what he was going to ask a beat before he spoke because of course Gwaine had had the thought first. "Where's Arthur?"

Yeah, Gwaine was just that good.

"I don't bloody know, do I? Probably off chasing after some sorcerer as is his specialty," Gwaine said, snapping at Leon as he focused once again upon his friend. His friend who was very clearly ill and had been dumped out on the road like last week's chamber pot filth. Gently, he lowered Merlin to the ground, turning him over with care so he lay flat, his back resting upon the ground. He saw out of the corner of his eye Leon step forward, his gaze upon Merlin but Gwaine shot a look over his shoulder that deterred the knight from asking the servant any such questions. They had aggravated him enough as it was, any more and it could kill him.

Gwaine looked back at Merlin, laid out on the roadside. He knew he should be worrying about his king as well, being sworn knight and all, but with Merlin here clearly suffering from some unknown ailment, possibly dying on the side of a dirt road, Arthur was not his first concern. Not that Arthur was ever his first concern because really the man was perfectly capable of taking care of himself—except when it came to washing his own socks and polishing his boots. Merlin would have frowned at him for that, would have given him some speech about knights and oaths and Arthur being the princliest princess that ever did prince. But Gwaine hadn't become a knight because he believed in Arthur and the grand old bloody kingdom he would bravely and oh so mightly rule over. He hadn't become a knight because of his love for Camelot either—honestly besides the never-ending flow of mead and women at the taverns and the wine served at every meeting, the place was not the highest on Gwaine's list of best places he'd lived, though it came awfully close due more to the people than the actual place. Merlin believed in Arthur, Merlin loved Camelot. It was an easy choice for Gwaine, like deciding between water and wine—well more like water and mead. He had become a knight of Camelot, pledging his loyalty to the royal snobby princess that Merlin was loyal to. Because Gwaine was loyal to Merlin.

Ignoring Leon's attempts to discern Arthur's whereabouts, Gwaine leaned over Merlin, trying to gauge the young man's lucidity and responsiveness. Which resembled that of Sir Kay's mutt after Gwaine had accidently spilled wine on the cobblestones at the Yuletide feast last year. Hazy, dark blue eyes stared back at him unfocused, their depths clouded with pain and fever. His mouth opened, lips forming what looked to be his name but no sound came out. Instead, Merlin's chest heaved as he gasped and his struggling began anew. Panic cinched Gwaine's heart.

"Merlin? Merlin, calm down. It's alright, it's just me," Gwaine soothed, trying in vain to calm the young man down. He wasn't sure if Merlin was disoriented, delusional, or if there was another more serious underlying problem but Merlin's breathing continued to rattle, becoming more and more shallow and pained. If the sound of his rattling chest didn't hint at a more serious problem then Gwaine would take over Jocosa's job, skirts, peeking ankles and all. The knight cursed. "It's ok. You'll be fine," he said trying to convince Merlin because he himself knew that Merlin was going to be fine. When was he ever not? Without taking his eyes off the servant, Gwaine spoke to the large man a little ways behind him, watching the scene unfold with growing concern that was obviously misplaced. "Percival, help me. I don't think he understands a word I'm saying. He's burning up."

"What's wrong with him?" Eylan asked from Gwaine's right, pausing in his efforts of helping Leon look for signs of their king as Percival bent down beside Merlin. And Gwaine didn't answer, no, not because he didn't know the answer but because he didn't want the others to worry when they shouldn't. Merlin was going to be _fine_.

Suddenly Merlin's hands scrambled weakly at Gwaine's mail, fingers trying to find purchase, sliding along the metal rings. His mouth was opening and closing, like a fish that had just been yanked out of the water, trying to say something but no words came forth. Gwaine watched, panic—no not panic because _Merlin was fine_ —gnawing at his stomach as Merlin struggled, gasping, eyes wide and fearful, losing focus. "Merlin!" He cursed as the servant's head lolled, eyes fluttering.

"We need to get him to Gaius, now!" Gwaine yelled and maybe he was panicking now and Percival scooped up the servant as Gwaine shot to his feet and mounted his horse. Together, they situated Merlin gently in front of Gwaine, the knight's arms ensuring he stayed in the saddle as he knew first hand how unpleasant it was to fall drunkenly out of the saddle. And how unamused Leon tended to be.

"Gwaine, Percival, go. Elyan and I shall remain here and see if we can find any trace of Arthur," Leon stated, a hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes filled with concern and determination and really when was he ever not, especially when it comes to a missing or in danger Arthur and Gwaine is pretty much used to it by now.

Gwaine only spared him a curt nod just placate the ever-worried man that everything was going to be alright because Gwaine was on the case as he shifted his hold on Merlin, Percival quickly mounting his horse not far behind. He dug his heels hard into the horse's flank, eliciting a snort from the mount as a fast pace was set.

"Just hold on Merlin," Gwaine whispered to the servant. "Just hold on."


	10. Chapter 10

Nothing made sense anymore.

There were times when Merlin was sure he was awake, was sure that the jostling and jolting of his body was more than a vivid dream. At times, he thought he even heard voices, the steady clopping of horses hooves, and later, the familiar tinkling of vials and bubbling brews and potions. Other times he swore he was back in Ealdor, Will's call filling his ears as his mother scolded him for sleeping so long. His mind grappled to hold on to each, to peel open his crusted eyes and see for himself which was reality. But his eyes refused to obey. His body refused to obey. He could only listen, smell, feel the world around him, desperately trying to make sense of what had and what was happening. Something of great importance, he was sure, something that he should remember, but he just...couldn't.

The world, both waking and dreaming remained firmly black, shrouded, pressing in on all sides, sounds and smells changing, whirling and twisting until he couldn't discern one from the other or recognize them. He was sure that he would never see light again, that this purgatory he was trapped in would become the only thing he knew.

He couldn't remember how he had wound up in such a place.

Then words, distant at first then growing with power broke through the black. Their meaning was lost on him, but the rise and fall of the tone, the voice, the fluidity of their structure made them familiar, soothing, welcoming. He stopped thinking, stopped trying to work out reality and just listened, letting the words wash over him, breathing them in, filling his lungs with their calm.

The calm, however, only lasted for a beat. The words kept filling his lungs, trapped there, like a too-full wine skin about ready to burst. He struggled, fighting to breathe, to let the words out, to release them before his lungs exploded. But they kept coming until he was drowning, losing the battle against their onslaught, death encroaching at the edges of his vision.

He jolted up, eyes suddenly wide and glowing as he coughed and sputtered, fighting for breath. He was barely able to take in the feel of the hard and lumpy mattress beneath him, a heavy worn blanket over his body, before he was doubling over the side of the wooden frame and heaving. Dark, foul liquid expelled from his lungs and spattered onto the floorboards below. The sour stench of blood and bile immediately assaulted his nose. And it just kept coming with each miniscule breath in another wave of nauseating liquid forced its way out of his lungs until he was sure he was going to heave up his innards and give in to death right there. 

"That's….let it….I know…." a familiar voice soothed, a few words making it past the sound of hacking. The voice was old and weathered, the very same that had spoken the words from before. A hand traced calming circles on his back, its movements sure but stuttering as though the owner were just as frightened by this sudden onslaught as Merlin was.

Finally, it all stopped and Merlin gasped in a lungful of air. And another. And another until he was breathing like he’d never tasted air before. Then he was coughing again, his lungs straining, throat burning. But the rattle was gone. The agonizing pressure in his chest was gone. The feeling like he was drowning with every shallow breath. All of it, gone. 

"Gaius," he said once he caught his breath, throat so dry and scratchy it came out no more than a whisper. Gods, when was the last time he had had a drink? Must have been years with the way he felt.

A cup was offered and he gulped down its contents without question.

"Easy, Merlin. Easy, you'll make yourself sick," Gaius snatched the cup away. "Have I taught you nothing?"

"Sorry," he mumbled, slumping back as a wave of dizziness swept over him and his strength ebbed. He suddenly felt weak as though just lifting a hand would have taken the last of his energy. Not to mention his head was pounding, his ribs still ached—though he could feel the tightness of fresh bandages around both his torso and forehead—and a soreness was taking root throughout his whole body. But there were much more important things to worry about. His health and comfort could wait. 

"Arthur,” he asked, trying to keep the desperation from his voice. “Did they find Arthur?"

Gaius shook his head. "Leon and Elyan returned yesterday, but they found no sign of him."

"Yesterday?" Panic surged through Merlin and he attempted to sit up again. "What—how long have I been out, Gaius?" How many days had Arthur been missing?

"Two days. You were barely breathing when Gwaine brought you in. I—there was nothing I could do—I had no choice," Gaius trailed off his eyes distant and pained. "But I managed to find a spell, finally."

"Gaius!"

"No, don't," the old man said, voice hard and stern, warning that any argument would not be tolerated. "You were dying. I apologize for the rude awakening but I'm certain it saved your life. Not sure the effects such a prolonged illness will have on your lungs so I suggest you take it easy."

"Not a chance," Merlin said with a shake of his head as he threw off the blanket in anticipation of doing just the opposite. "I need to find Arthur."

He barely made it halfway off the mattress before falling back, as his muscles screamed in protest and blackness encroached at the edges of his vision. 

"I had a feeling you would say that," Gaius sighed, shaking his head as he put a hand on Merlin's chest. The old physician paused, listening and feeling as the young warlock breathed, his eyes searching his face. After a few beats he spoke again. "What happened Merlin?" 

Merlin took a few breaths, savoring the taste and feeling of being able to just breathe normally. It was a feeling he was never going to take for granted for as long as he lived. "Bandits. They just, they took him. There was nothing I could do Gaius. My magic, it was...it wasn't working correctly. Everything was on fire, I could hardly breathe..."

Gaius placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, trying to head off the encroaching panic. "Peace Merlin, peace. You're going to be fine." 

"That's not the point!" Merlin shouted, or, at least he attempted to. But his throat immediately rebelling against such abuse and the coughing began anew, harder and more violent than before. Fear shot through his stomach like a bolt. The illness was back, having never left, just waiting in the recesses of his lungs until this moment when it could overcome him. He had no doubt this time, it would be able to finish what it started. Again, when Arthur needed him most. 

But the coughing was over just as quickly as it had come. Merlin swallowed on instinct before taking an even breath through his nose a few times to settle his lungs and his racing heart. He looked up at Gaius, just in time to see the concern on his face morph into relief and then melt away altogether. Merlin nodded, more to himself than his mentor, silently communicating that he was alright, he was fine.

"Arthur was kidnapped, taken from right beside me and I couldn't do a thing about it." He clutched his head, squeezing his eyes shut as the memory of those last few minutes before Arthur was dragged off played through his mind. Whether or not he ever found Arthur, that moment would haunt Merlin for the rest of his life. The moment he had failed his king, his best friend, his destiny.

"You didn't recognize any of these men?” Gaius asked as he rubbed soothing circles on Merlin’s shoulder. “They didn't say who they were working for, didn't mention a name?"

Merlin shook his head but regretted the action as it aggravated his ever present headache. "Carlin was the only name I heard but he was just a hired hand. Only mentioned working for someone but that's it. Nothing else. I can't even tell you which direction we were heading nor coming from once we escaped. I was uh...pretty out of it." Merlin rubbed at his throat subconsciously as he glanced down, shame coloring his cheeks. "Probably couldn't have even told you which way was up."

Gaius nodded in understanding. The old physician turned away then, making his way over to the pitcher of water perched on the small table.

With Gaius' back turned, Merlin braced his arms against the hard mattress and struggled to sit up again. He had no way of knowing what was happening to Arthur, and speculating wasn't going to help. He needed to act. Two days had passed and any number of things could have happened within that time. He needed to find Arthur now.

"Here, drink," Gaius said, back at Merlin's side with another cup, this time only a third full of water so the warlock wouldn't overindulge. The old physician made no move to push Merlin back down but eyed him disapprovingly. "Your throat will probably be sore for a while still." 

Merlin nodded in thanks, realizing just how scratchy and raw his throat felt. All the talking wasn’t doing him any good either but right now he wasn’t focused on himself. Arthur was, as always had been and would likely always be, his priority. 

He downed the small amount of liquid in the cup in one gulp.

The foul taste hit him a beat later and his eyes widened. He tried to scramble off the bed despite knowing it would do him no good but Gaius pushed him back down before he could.

"Gaius!" Merlin croaked, feeling betrayed and hurt at his mentor's actions. He struggled against the surprisingly strong aged physician.

Gaius for his part, looked guilty but relief was quickly overshadowing it. "You need to rest, Merlin."

"I need to find Arthur!" He was panicking now even as his breathing slowed and his energy flagged. Gaius knew how important Arthur was, knew how much Merlin cared for and needed Arthur, destiny excluded. He couldn’t just leave him to his own devices out there. The prat couldn’t last a day without him and it had already been two.

"And you will, I have no doubt," Gaius stated as Merlin’s strength finally gave out and he slumped back onto the pillows. The physician held him down a beat longer before settling the blanket back over him, the weight of the heavy fabric pinning him to the mattress. "But not until after you have recovered."

"It might be…too late then," he mumbled. His thoughts were sluggish now, his body succumbing to the potion Gaius had slipped him even as his mind tried to fight back. But it was in vain.

Gaius patted Merlin's leg beneath the blanket, the act barely felt by the warlock. "Sleep, Merlin. You need it."

Merlin gathered the last of his consciousness and glared at Gaius as much as he could through heavy lidded eyes. "Y-you...you won't..be able...to...s-stop me...next time…"

"I know, Merlin," he heard Gaius say but the old physician sounded far away now as the darkness engulfed his mind. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come and soon the real plot shall be revealed. And also Arthur's fate....


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, I know. Apologies my lovely readers, work got hectic. Here's a new chapter though so hopefully it makes up for it somewhat. Enjoy!

For the first time in what felt like a fortnight, he was at peace. No worries. No pain. Not even a single thought passed through his mind. There was nothing, calm and silent like the peace that surrounded one when under still waters.

Then it shattered as stones, loud and sharp were thrown into the water, forcing Merlin into the waking world. He gasped, eyes flying open, one word breaking the silence of his thoughts.

Arthur.

Memories came rushing back, fast and ferocious, as though a dam had broke, releasing them to the forefront of his mind. The events of the past few days—or had it been weeks? Truly, there was no way for him to know having spent most of them either delusional or unconscious—played out in bits and pieces and Merlin winced with each one. Worry, fear, guilt, all of it invaded every nook and cranny of his being as though it had never been chased away by Gaius' potion.

Before he registered what he was doing, Merlin was up, determination driving him forth. He fell back upon the bed almost immediately. His body, still weak and tired from his ordeal, was unprepared for the sudden movement. He growled in frustration. Arthur didn’t have time for him to recover!

Merlin took a few steadying breaths, not deep but filling, wanting to gather his wits and strength before attempting to rise again. There was no way any threatening illness was going to keep him down. Not again. He wouldn’t make that mistake ever again. From now on, it was fight back or die trying. Arthur’s life, their destiny, they were much too important.

Beyond Merlin’s room, the wooden door of the main chambers creaked open on unoiled hinges.

"Sir Leon?" Gaius' muffled voice sounded from the front chambers, greeting the caller in the hall.

Leon's answered, formal as always. "Her majesty requires your presence in the council chambers as a matter of urgency."

"I was just about to see to my patients—"

"Gaius," Leon interrupted, dropping all illusions of formality, his voice low, words slow and sure, "it concerns Arthur."

Merlin blanched, his whole body tensing, threatening to send him into a panic. Noise faded until all he could hear was a dull ringing in his ears. Arthur. There was news of Arthur. But, if Gaius was being summoned, the news would not be good. Either Arthur had been found and returned in a less-than-healthy state, or new information about his whereabouts had surfaced and the news was grave at best. Any way he imagined it, the reason for Gaius' summons didn't bode well for the king.

And whatever it was, Merlin knew he was at fault.

The _snick_ of the front door closing as Gaius and Leon left snapped Merlin back to the present. Arthur, he needed to find out about Arthur. He needed to know what was being discussed at that meeting. Without a second thought, he pulled on his boots and arose once more, finding his footing weak and unstable but manageable. A bout of dizziness threatened to send him back onto the mattress but he ignored it, his determination pushing him forward, disregarding the pains and aches of his still recovering body. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Arthur could be hurt, dying, imprisoned somewhere with not a day left of his life. Merlin did not have the luxury to lay around. He may very well be Arthur's only chance. Oh, who was he kidding, the king couldn't last without him.

He traced his hands along the corridor feeling the stone walls, cold and rough under his fingers but solid, offering stability as he staggered. Sunlight streamed through the windows, colors dancing merrily on the grey stone, lighting his way. For midday, the hallways were surprisingly vacant. Those Merlin did pass were but servants and maids going about their duties and only able to spare him several concerned looks and surprised glances as he passed. He paid them no mind, having to focus most of his attention on putting one foot in front of the other. It was a challenge. More than once he felt one of his legs threaten to buckle and it took all his effort and the wall’s support to keep him going. But surprisingly enough, he reached the fork in the corridor faster than should have been possible for someone in his state. His lungs, however, were sure to make their displeasure known, seeming to shrink in on themselves. The sound of his panting and gasping echoed off the stone walls as he continued toward the council chambers, the stuttering of his stumbling footsteps accompanying them.

On a whim, he stole into a servants' passage. The council chambers were sure to be guarded by the usual foot soldiers and Merlin had no desire to explain his being there—especially as he was supposed to be laid up in bed, ill and recovering—and have to argue his way in.

Voices reached his ears, faint at first, but growing in volume as he approached where the servants’ corridor opened into the council chambers. He immediately recognized Gwen’s feminine but authoritative voice and hastened forward, not wanting to miss what information she had to relay.

Quietly, Merlin stole along the wall beside the entrance, still in the corridor, hiding himself away.

"—received a ransom note just a bit ago," Gwen stated.

His heart sank. He had guessed such a thing would occur and frankly, was pleased it was ransom rather than the other more dark possibilities he had been imagining. At least this outcome ensured Arthur still lived and would be kept relatively unharmed in order to get full price for his return. That is, if the kidnapper played the game fairly.

Curiosity drove Merlin to peer around the corner. He needed to read just how dire the situation was upon the faces of those seated within the chamber. Gwen stood before the knights and Gaius, her stature regal, commanding the room with just her presence. Oh, how she had transformed since her days as a maidservant. But Merlin noticed how, despite her outward demeanor, there was a worry, a fear emanating from the queen. It spiked Merlin's own worry just that much more.

The knights looked curious. Worried, yes, but not overly so. Not like waves that were coming off Gwen.

Gaius spoke then, "Dare I ask what it says, my lady?"

Gwen nodded and began to read off the parchment in her hands.

“ _It is my great pleasure to inform you that I have your king in my company. As of now, he lives and shall remain so only if you come alone, in person, to negotiate the terms to claim him. Fail to do so, and further harm shall come to him, resulting in a drawn out and most unpleasant death. The choice is ultimately yours. You have one week._ ”

The room was eerily quiet as she folded up the letter, trying to hide the shaking of her hands. But Merlin saw it anyway, the cold in his veins spreading even further.

"The seal is that of the Kingdom of Deorham," Gwen continued, her tone low and angry with but a small wobble in her voice that betrayed her distress. "Alined's lands."

Gwaine spoke up, "But what would Alined want—"

"There is more," Gwen said, her voice breaking finally, harsh and wet as though she was struggling to hold back tears.

Gaius frowned in unease, "Your majesty?"

"It also came with this." She reached for a small bundle on the table, wrapped carefully in a silk handkerchief. Merlin frowned. Why would such a small thing warrant this sort of reaction from Gwen? Arthur didn’t carry a handkerchief so it couldn’t possibly be his.

He saw it not a moment later. Merlin's eyes widened, disbelieving. A cold iron fist closed around his lungs, stealing his breath at the sight. He was sure his heart had stopped beating.

The handkerchief was stained with blood.

Slowly, Gwen unwrapped it. Merlin almost closed his eyes, but he forced himself to watch. He was its cause after all. He was the reason this package had been sent. He was the reason that Arthur wasn't here. He was the reason this ransom was able to take place at all. He had failed to protect the king. Whatever horrors it brought, he deserved them.

The last of the handkerchief fell away revealing, sitting innocently in its folds, a finger with a very familiar looking ring still adorning it. Arthur's ring. The ring he wore at all times on his left forefinger. Merlin saw that ring every day, glinting in the sun as Arthur gestured about. Felt in dig into his skin when Arthur manhandled him down the hallways. Covered it with a glove before training or a hard ride. Arthur always wore it, and always on the same hand, the same finger.

A finger that had been savagely cut off and delivered to the queen.

Merlin barely heard the gasps that sounded through the room. His eyes were glued to the dismembered finger. Arthur's finger. The cold in his veins turned to ice. He retreated into the small corridor, his back hitting the rough stone wall, the only thing keeping him on his feet as his stomach threatened to rebel. His pulse was pounding. His heart breaking. This was his doing. His fault. He had done this to Arthur. He was the reason his king was sitting in some cell in Deorham. Hurt. Crippled. Irreparably damaged. Arthur would now forever carry around the disfigurement. There for all to see. Merlin's failure. If only he hadn't run his mouth, hadn't fallen ill, had paid more attention, tried harder, fought better, anything! It was all his fault.

"There is one more thing," Gwen said, her voice breaking through Merlin's whirling thoughts, forcing him to focus on the present once more. "Gaius, the letter, it-it wasn't addressed to me."

"Who was it addressed to?" Gaius asked, his tone agitated as though he already knew for whom this letter was meant.

"Someone called Emrys."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Been busy with a new production and then writer's block but now I'm back and writing and here's the result! Wahoo enjoy!

Merlin was back in his chambers and packing before his brain, heart, or lungs had even caught up with what he was doing. But he didn't stop. If he was to have any chance of answering Alined's summons without being caught by Gaius—who if he knew that Merlin had heard, would surely confine him to his bed until he had at least recovered somewhat and Arthur had lost a couple more fingers or appendages if not his life—then he needed to leave immediately, before the meeting came to an end.

Hastily, he shoved a few spare pieces of clothing and on a whim, his magic book, in a sack before stumbling down the stairs and making for the door. As he passed the table, he grabbed a some food and spices, wrapping them up in a square of cloth and folding into his bag. It was a three day trip to Alined's lands, two if he was lucky and the weather held. He would need the sustenance if he was going to be ready to fight upon arrival. Which, he planned to, no matter his state.

Arthur sure as hell wasn't going to save himself.

A small smile crossed Merlin's lips at the thought but it was quickly washed away by the image of his king, imprisoned, pained, bleeding in the depths of a cold damp dungeon. A pang of guilt stabbed Merlin's heart, the breath knocked out of him as if he had been physically hit. He coughed, his lungs constricting on themselves, his throat flaring up once more with irritation that had yet to recede fully. Merlin hunched in on himself, dropping his bag as his arm snaked around his torso, straining to keep himself together as his weakness and shortness of breath threatened to do the opposite.

And yet his thoughts raged on. It was all his fault. What if Arthur never recovered? He would, physically, but would he be able to go about his life the same? Would he be mentally fit?He knew Arthur was strong, stronger than anyone he had met before, but even the bravest and most fearsome of knights fell when faced with enough trauma. And he could only guess at what was happening to Arthur, besides what he already knew. Alined could be breaking his word at this very moment, torturing, flaying, mutilating Arthur, laughing all the while and enjoying the sound of Arthur's pain, of his flesh being sliced open, bleeding, hurting, dying, unable to escape. All the while Merlin was here. Not imprisoned, not being tortured, not bleeding out. Only being held back simply by lungs that refused to obey.

It was absurd.

Determined, Merlin pushed himself out of his hunch and took a small but steadying breath, then another, and another, forcing his lungs to work, to let him breath so he could continue to ignore their pain and focus on what was important. Arthur. He needed to get to Arthur. He was the one the letter was meant for. He was the one Alined wanted. He was the only one who could help Arthur. And there was no way he was going to let a stupid cough stop him from achieving his destiny.

His boots muffled his footsteps as he quickly stole down the stairs and across the courtyard toward the stables. He wanted to break out into a run, wanted to hurry himself along not only before he could be stopped, but also so he could get to Arthur quickly. But despite the action being suspicious in and of itself, he knew his lungs would not be able to take such a strain at the time. Once he was on his horse though, there would be no stopping him.

Merlin barely heard the noise and hustle and bustle of servants and townspeople as he made his way to the stables. It was only when the hardness of the cobblestones made way to soft hay underfoot that he focused on his surroundings. The stable hand, thankfully, was nowhere in sight and Merlin quickly made his way to his horse, barely registering the brown mare from the village bedded in the next stall. He averted his eyes quickly, glad that she was safe and unharmed but not wanting a reminder of his failure.

He just needed to tack his horse, a feat that was proving to be quite a challenge in his current state. His arms shook as he hefted his saddle, the weight of it almost knocking him the ground. For a fleeting moment, he wished the stable hand was about. He had never thought that such a menial task that he had easily performed on a daily basis would be so hard. He hated this, all of this. It was as if his own body was fighting against him, against his destiny and the reason they both even existed. He growled in frustration, pushing through and finally managing to lay the saddle on his horse. The mare nudged him with her nose, offering comfort as he leaned on her for support and panted with the exertion.

"And where exactly do you think you are going?" A familiar voice asked, breaking through Merlin's musings and startling him so badly he about fell over.

"By the Gods, Gwaine...don't do that!" Merlin rasped, his throat still much too sore for him to talk in anything above a whisper. He held onto his horse's saddle for support. His heart was beating rapidly, breathing even more erratic than before as he tried to calm his strained nerves.

Gwaine did have the decency to look abashed as he strolled further into the stables, Percival at his heels. "Sorry, mate, didn't mean to frighten you so much. But really, I think you ought to be in bed, don't you?"

"No I don't," Merlin said, his whispered words having a little more bite to them than he had intended. He took a shallow even breath, calming himself as best he could given the turmoil of his thoughts. "I just need some fresh air."

"Oh, then you won't mind if me and Percival tag along with you, now would you?" The rough knight asked, already saddling up his horse. "Wouldn't want you to get snatched up again after just getting you back, would we?"

Percival, Merlin noticed, had nearly finished readying his horse, having wasted no time in preparing for their departure. No doubt this had been their plan all along no matter what excuse Merlin came up with. The warlock grit his teeth. He didn't have time for this. _Arthur_ didn't have time for this.

"No, Gwaine. I just want to be alone, okay?" Merlin said, trying to dissuade the knights despite knowing it was a hopeless case. "I promise, I'll be fine."

"This is not negotiable, mate." Gwaine stated, tightening the saddle straps with a little more force than necessary, causing his horse to snort in discomfort. He patted her neck in apology before slipping her bridle on. "Either you let us tag along, or we'll follow you. No matter what, we are coming with you."

"Gwaine…"

"Merlin."

They stared hard at one another, neither backing down until the other relented or the whole stables caught fire, whichever came first. Merlin knew he couldn't give up. He needed Gwaine and Percival to let him go, to leave him be so he could answer the summons without giving up his biggest secret. But the knights didn't know that. And they couldn't know, not yet at least. Merlin knew he could just knock the two of them out with a simple sleeping spell, but with the way both the knights were keeping a sharp eye on him, he knew there was no way either one would miss the flash of his eyes. He couldn't risk it, not if he wanted to get Arthur back and remain faithfully by his side upon their return.

"Look we can all pretend that we don't know where you are going and waste a whole lot of time that could be better spent saving the kingdom and his royal princess' remaining limbs," Merlin flinched, his heart constricting at the reminder of what had and could happen to Arthur. Gwaine just shrugged, grabbing his horse's reins and leading her out of her stall. "Or we can just all be in agreement that his hide needs saving and we aren't going to wait around for some unknown person to attempt a rescue."

Merlin glared at Gwaine for a moment longer before slumping, defeated. There was simply no way around it. Gwaine and Percival were coming. Besides, if Merlin was honest with himself, he knew the chances of him making it to Deorham without help was slim. He was not in the best of shape, could hardly even stumble his way through saddling his horse without feeling completely exhausted and out of breath. And he expected to make the three day journey to Alined's land unscathed and ready for a fight? No, he needed the knights.

He would just have to come up with a way to ditch them once they arrived in Deorham.

"Fine," Merlin relented, grabbing his horse's reins and leading her out of the stables. He felt Percival's eyes on him as he staggered past, scrutinizing him. He grit his teeth harder, trying to ignore him as he painstakingly clamored onto his patient horse. It took him a few tries but finally, he managed, settling himself in the saddle and trying his best not to instinctively hunch in exhaustion. He gave his companions a sidelong glance, now feeling both the knights' eyes upon him.

Brow furrowed in concern, Gwaine opened his mouth, but Merlin beat him to it. "No, I don't want to hear it," he growled in low rasping words, "I'm allowing you to join me but you keep your mouth shut. Both of you. I'm perfectly aware of my condition and my limits. I. Am. Fine."

Gwaine closed his mouth, a lazy smile gracing his lips as he raised his hands in surrender. Percival, in ever silent agreement, just nodded before mounting his horse. Merlin knew they would be placated for only so long before their concerns and arguments spewed forth again, but it was enough for now. They had wasted enough time as it was.

A voice, familiar and full of concern shouted out from across the courtyard. "Merlin!"

Merlin didn't acknowledge his mentor's call, knowing that he had few scant moments to make a hasty leave.

"Sorry Gaius," he softly apologized, though he knew the old healer couldn't hear him. Without looking back, he kicked his horse hard, urging her into galloping off toward the gates, Gwaine and Percival right behind him.

He had a royal prat to rescue.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter! Sorry for the unreliable updates but hey, I'm updating so Wahoooo! Enjoy!

The journey to Alined's lands took longer than Merlin had hoped. Cloudy but unthreatening skies lit their way, the birds in the trees never stopping in their chorus until dusk was upon them and camp had been made. They encountered no threats from bandits, or Morgana, or anything for that matter. No, it was Merlin who had held them up, delaying their progress. Not on purpose, of course. It seemed there was only so far he could travel on horseback in one day. His head still pounded out its displeasure every once in a while, not to mention the toll the constant jostling of riding took on his ribs and body in general. And yet, three days after they had gone racing out of Camelot's gates, they finally crossed the border into Deorham. By then, Merlin was a bundle of nerves.

Gwaine and Percival were good company, as far as unwanted companions went, that is. Merlin couldn't blame them, not really. He would have done the same in their position. But his annoyance lingered nonetheless. They added an extra obstacle, more anxiety, something else to plague his thoughts when he should be solely focused on how he was going to get in and out of Deorham undetected with Arthur. It would be difficult enough to free his king without exposing his magic to said man. The knights just added two more to worry about.

Merlin pulled the blanket further around his shoulders to stave off the cool dusk air as he settled down onto his bedroll. They had camped for the night in the dense forest a good half a league from Alined's castle, opting to forgo lighting a fire and a hot meal in order to ensure they remained undiscovered on enemy lands. The sun had retired for the night, leaving the last recesses of its light to battle with the encroaching dark, shadows throwing everything out of proportion. Merlin had never been afraid of the dark before, not even when he was a boy. He used to find solace in it, for darkness meant there was no fire, no flames, no execution pyre. He was safe as long as it was dark.

But recently it felt like the darkness only held more pain and promises he couldn't keep. He was determined to change that.

"We need a plan," Percival's voice interrupted Merlin's thoughts and the warlock looked up across the small circle of their bedrolls. The large knight sat leaning against a log, his dark green cloak—not red, they couldn't very well show their true colors on such a sensitive mission—bundled behind his head as a pillow and eyes meeting Merlin's in the dim light. 

"I didn't really have one," Merlin admitted softly with a shrug, rubbing at his side to ease his aching ribs.

Liar. He had a plan. Granted it was an awful sneak-into-the-castle-and-hope-for-the-best sort of plan, but a plan nonetheless.

But he couldn't voice it aloud. Not in present company at least.

Gwaine bit into an apple, the crunch loud enough to startle a rabbit out from the underbrush and further into the forest "Sounds like my kind of plan." He smiled around the fruit and took another bite.

"There's an old postern gate," Percival stated suddenly, "on the south side that used to lead beneath the castle decades ago." Gwaine stared at the large knight, his eyes wide with surprise that Merlin knew was written on his face as well. Percival studiously ignored them. "It's flooded now that the river has grown but they haven't completely blocked it off, only channeled it and barred it from the main body of the river. It's mainly used to filter water into a lower chamber that’s now the king's personal bath house.”

"How do you know that, mate?" Gwaine asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Been hanging around Alined's personal bath house often?

Percival huffed, amused even as he shook his head. "No, Gwaine. Back when I first met—" he broke off suddenly, glancing at Merlin with a sad look in his eye, "—Lancelot, we traveled these parts, doing odd jobs here and there. One just happened to lead us inside the city walls. A merchant from a few villages over needed a few armed men to guard his goods on the journey to the city. One night at the inn there can teach a man all he never wanted to know about a place."

"You two worked as a mercenaries?" Gwaine asked bemused.

Percival shrugged, "It was honest work, no thieving or pillaging, just guarding goods or the occasional noble folk as they traveled through bandit-infested lands. It put a roof over our heads at night and food in our bellies."

Merlin nodded in understanding. He knew all too well how low some would stoop in order to survive. In order to live. He had seen the bottom of those barrels often enough.

Gwaine leaned back to lounge across his bedroll, his back propped up by a fallen log. "I'm still not convinced." He gestured flippantly with the half-eaten apple. "You sure it doesn't involve a lass? Perhaps two chickens, four jars of pickled eggs, a barrel of mead, and a midnight swim in the royal bath? Because we may have more in common than you think, my friend."

The large knight just shook his head, exasperated. "I do not want to know how that story goes."

Merlin let a small smile grace his lips for a moment as the knights laughed, but it quickly faded. His thoughts kept returning to Arthur even as he tried hard not to let them. What he must be going through, right now as they sat less than a league away safe and unharmed, he didn't want to know. He just wanted his friend back safe and to put this whole mess behind them.

A worm of unease that had worked its way into his mind had yet to let go. Something wasn't right here. Granted, that was obvious what with Alined clearly trying to lure him there with the letter addressed to Emrys. And clearly the man had no idea that Merlin himself was Emrys or else he would have been taken instead of Arthur, sick and vulnerable as he was. He had been completely powerless. But no, they had targeted Arthur, only to turn around and use him as bait? Why? What was Alined's intention with the great Emrys? Surely he hadn't heard of the prophecy—

Merlin froze as cold dread washed over him. He had heard the prophecy. The Once and Future King destined to unite the kingdoms and bring peace to all of Albion. And with Emrys by his side, always by his side, fiercely loyal and protective. How he came by this information, Merlin could only guess but there was no other explanation. How else could he have known exactly where to send the letter, where Emrys was sure to be? Merlin’s stomach plummeted, his blood freezing in his veins as he realized the stakes were higher than he thought. And he clearly had known his purpose for being there, of his destiny, of his magic. There was no doubt in Merlin’s mind that he knew that Emrys, that Merlin, was destined to protect the king. That he would do anything to get him back and keep him safe. Even knowingly walk straight into a trap.

It was a gamble, all of it, but Alined had just proved that he was willing to take the risks. There was no way, without the knowledge of who exactly Emrys was, that Alined had known Merlin would hear the letter, would even be in Camelot at the time it was delivered. What if he hadn't been? What if he had been well enough and out searching? Merlin shuddered at the thought. He would have never known where Arthur was, never been able to reach Arthur before the deadline. It would have much been too late.

But he wasn't too late, he reminded himself. Not yet. He was here and he was going to get Arthur back, trap or not.

"Well, we better turn in," Gwaine said, breaking Merlin from his thoughts. "We'll plan more tomorrow and scout out the entrance. By midnight, we should be on our way back to Camelot, a grumpy, aggravated princess in our possession."

Merlin stayed silent, nodding in agreement as he rubbed at his side again, wincing. The bandages had come loose during their ride that day, giving no support to his broken rib. He needed to tighten them.

Gently, he grabbed the hem of his tunic and lifted it, trying to get it up far enough so he could reach the bandage. The other nights, it had been an easy enough task to complete on his own, and though he had seen Gwaine eyeing him with concern, the man had kept back. But it seemed he had let the bandage get too loose this time, giving him no support as his torso moved and the ache spiked when he shifted. A soft grunt escaped his lips.

"Here, let me help." Gwaine was suddenly at his side, reaching toward his tunic and the knot in the bandage.

Merlin just glared up at him, freezing the knight in place with a look.

"What?" The charming knight gave him an innocent look. Well, as innocent as Gwaine could that is. Which wasn't very innocent at all. "I haven't said a word about anything. Just offering friendly assistance.”

"I can manage on my own, Gwaine. Don't think I didn't notice you jumped at the chance to get us fresh water." He nodded his head toward where the horses were tethered. "We both know that's usually my job."

"Yes well, you didn't stop me," the knight said with a raise of his eyebrows to emphasize his point. "Just let me help."

He wanted to say no, wanted to prove that he was just fine and could care for himself. He was fine. Needed to be. But as he moved his arm to lift his tunic higher and twist to get at the knot, another spike of pain shot through his side. He winced before he could stop himself.

Gwaine just waited patiently, watching, a strange mixture of concern and smugness painted across his features. Merlin glared up at him once more before he huffed, "Fine," and begrudgingly allowed the knight to assist him.

"There's no shame in asking for help, you know," Gwaine said as he unwrapped the bandages circling Merlin's torso. "Everyone needs it. I mean just look at Princess."

It felt like a blow to Merlin's already guilty conscience and he grimaced at the ground. He knew Gwaine didn't mean any harm by the comment, wanting only to lighten the mood, but still it hurt. The only reason Arthur needed any help was because of Merlin. Usually, Arthur needed help because of his own damn arrogance or ignorance, poking at magical and mundane things alike that he ought not to be and getting himself and others into whole heaps of trouble. But this, this was on Merlin. No one else. 

"Hey," Gwaine said as he finished tying the bandage with a firm but soft tug and Merlin let his tunic fall back into place. A gentle finger tilted Merlin's chin up, until he met Gwaine's unwavering gaze. "Don't go down that road. This is not your fault. You were an inch from death when we found you, there was no way in hell you could have done anything. So stop blaming yourself."

"We'll get him back," Percival spoke up as he got to his feet, sword and cloak in hand and made his way over to the edge of the forest to start his watch.

Despite the turmoil and guilt still rampaging through him, Merlin placated the knights a small smile. "I'll try."

Gwaine sighed but returned the smile. "That's a start."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin lay on his uninjured side, eyes closed, facing where he knew Percival sat against an old gnarled tree a few paces away. The camp was silent, only broken here and there by clink of metal as Percival shifted and the rustling of leaves as the wind caressed the bows of the trees. Merlin could feel his mind drifting, his body begging for the rest it craved, but he stayed vigilant, listening. Waiting. 

Moments later, soft gentle snores filled the camp. Merlin opened his eyes marginally, just enough to see through his lashes. Moonlight bathed their camp in a soft glow, pushing the shadows to the edges. He could just make out Percival's large form, his eyes roaming their camp, alert but bored. It wasn't until he glanced out into the forest and away from where the warlock lay that Merlin opened his eyes and whispered, “ _Swefe nu._ ”

He felt his magic spring forward, eager after all this time laying dormant, and his eyes burned. Percival's shadowed form slumped where he sat.

A beat passed, then two before Merlin's racing heart settled down enough for him to be able to hear Gwaine's snores once more and he sprang up. He crept over to Gwaine, footsteps light across the soft ground and knelt beside him. He whispered a quiet apology before guiding his hand over the knight's peaceful face and repeating the spell. Gwaine's mind relaxed further into sleep.

With the knights firmly locked in their dreams, Merlin strode over to his horse and retrieved his magic book from his pack. He had almost forgotten he had brought it, what with the anxiety that Gwaine and Percival's sudden appearance and insistence that they join him had caused. But now, he was glad he had. He would be needing it.

He thumbed through the pages quickly, looking for something that would meet his needs. A part of him felt guilty at ensorceling his friends, even though they would never know he had done it. They were only trying to help. But this was one thing they couldn't help him with. He didn't want them to. If this really was a trap—and there was no doubt in Merlin's mind that it was—then it would be of magical means, of magical in origin. After all, to catch a magical being, it was best to use magic. And with Trickler at Alined's disposal, whatever was waiting for Emrys would be enough to, in their minds, take down the most powerful warlock that would ever live.

And there was no way Gwaine and Percival could stand up against something like that. Besides, if they were with him, he would have to split his focus, watching their backs as well as his own.

Plus, this way he wouldn't have to hide so much. He could use his magic freely and openly. Alined already knew he was a sorcerer and Merlin assumed, this being a trap, that all his men knew as well. And if they didn't, well they were soon going to find out.

Getting in would be the easy part. Getting out, now that would be difficult. He could use magic in any way, shape, or form to get in, but once he had Arthur, he would have to be more discreet. Yes, there was every possibility that Alined had revealed his plan to Arthur—the man was just pompous that way—and in turn, who they were expecting. But Merlin was unconcerned. He would just make something up about finding the prophesied sorcerer and joining him in the mission. Or….something. Arthur would easily believe him. He always did.

Finally, he found a spell that would do. It was simple, really, and the words rolled off Merlin's tongue with ease. A gold ring expanded across the ground, lighting up the small camp in a soft golden glow and originating where he stood. It quickly grew in size, like the ripples on a pond's surface until it was a good few paces into the forest. Then it disappeared completely, leaving no trace that it had ever been there. Darkness fell over the camp once more.

That should keep any unwanted eyes or persons from stumbling upon their camp. At least until Merlin returned. With Arthur.

He stowed the book back in his pack, hiding it beneath his extra clothes and out of immediate sight. The knights should remain in restful sleep at least until well past midnight but just in case, he didn't want to take any chances with either the book or with his magic being discovered. Better to be safe than on the pyre.

Merlin strode back over to his bedroll, gathering up his blanket and approaching Gwaine. The man's snores were soft now, gentle and calm as he rode the waves of his dreams. Carefully, Merlin lifted Gwaine's head, the knight's long locks tickling his forearm, and removed the cloak he was using as a pillow, replacing it with his own bundled blanket.

He stared down at the knight, guilt once again crashing over him. But it couldn't be helped. He needed to do this to ensure that everyone was safe, both from Alined and whatever he had planned, as well as Merlin's secret.

"Sorry friend," he sighed. "I hope you will forgive me some day."

He backed away, throwing the cloak around his shoulders and pulling the hood up. With a last look around the camp, Merlin turned, pulling his neckerchief up over his mouth and nose and let the shadows of the forest swallow him whole.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, it's been waaaaaayyyyyy too long. So sorry. I won't bore you with excuses and just get right to the new chapter. Let me know what you think. Enjoy!

From a distance, Alined's fortress painted a serene and alluring picture, even in the dark. Torches and candles twinkled in the night, some bobbing with the movement of their owners, and others motionless and flickering, casting a warm glow over the stone walls. It was small for a castle but had an air of elegance, of beauty and regal to it that greatly contradicted the man who ruled it. For a moment, Merlin thought he had stumbled across some other Lord's grounds in the lands of Doerham. But no, this was the place. This was where he would find Arthur.

The imposing structure stood on flat grounds, tall stone walls surrounding the miniscule lower town and another thicker towering wall further in encased the upper town and citadel. A moat fed off the large river that bordered the south side of the castle, filling a deep trench at the base of the other three walls. There was a large wooden drawbridge at the entrance to the city on the north side the only means of access to the main gate. At night, the bridge was drawn up and inaccessible, the people of the city locked safely within. Gently swaying fields of grass expanded off from the moat a fair distance before giving way to thick dense forest, in which Merlin sat, crouched in the shadows of the trees on the east side of the castle walls.

He had been motionless for a long while, watching, scoping, devising a plan of attack. The guards and watchtowers were well manned and patrolled, never more than twenty heartbeats between each guard walking the walls. The light was poor, the moonlight waning as darkness blanketed the entire field outside the city, especially on the east side. And that was why Merlin had chosen it for his point of approach.

He could perhaps make his way into the city under the guise of a hapless servant. It would be easier, less taxing but there was the risk of someone—the mercenaries, or even Alined himself—recognizing him. And if that happened, there was no doubt he would have to resort to magic. As himself, exposed, uncovered and vulnerable if word about his hidden abilities spread after they had escaped. No, it was better to sneak past, and try to get in and out faceless and unseen, without the alarm being raised. The fewer people he came across, the better.

Earlier, he had attempted to locate the postern gate Percival had mentioned by sight alone but the river was wide and in constant motion. It had been impossible to see anything on the south side of the wall without crossing the river or swimming down it. Neither of which Merlin had time for.

Merlin sighed, conceding the point. It was no use sitting here, waiting for nothing to happen. The only way he was going to be able to see if the gate was still there and accessible, was to wade through the waters and pray to the gods that Percival's information was correct. And that he wasn't seen, or swept off with the current, or drowned.

"The things I do for you, prat," he mumbled to himself, tensing his muscles and ignoring the aches and pains of his ailing body as he watched the patrol pause at the far corner. He only had one shot at this. One shot to get in, avoid being seen, heard, and caught, and get out with Arthur by his side. If he was seen or caught, it would be all over. There was no way he would be able to wage a full out magic battle against the entirety of Alined's army, Trickler, and gods knew who else. Not in his state.

Finally, the patrol turned the corner and Merlin darted out on the open stretch. He stayed low and hunched as he ran, his ribs aching painfully with the position. Five, six...a sharp pain lanced up his side but he ignored it. Eight, nine, ten...he continued on as fast as he could toward the corner of the wall bordering the river. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Reaching the stone curtain, he immediately pressing his back against it and trying his best to blend in with the dark grey. The muffled clang of armor sounded above, signaling the appearance of another guard upon the wall. Merlin didn't dare move.

He closed his eyes, breathing rapid from the exertion but silent as he focused on the sounds above him. The river to his right flowed steadily, lapping at the bank by his feet and drowning out any minute noises from above. But the rattle of armor, the sure footsteps of the patrol above as the man continued on down the wall, were discernible enough and Merlin jumped back into action. He turned and slid down the steep river bank, landing in the water as smoothly as possible so as not to alert the guards with his splashing.

The frigid waters shocked Merlin's body as he entered, his muscles seizing and threatening to keep him frozen where he was. But he ignored them, gritting his teeth as he pressed his back to the bank, melting in with the shadows. He thanked all the gods that the moon had picked tonight to be shy, its light just enough that he could make out shapes but not detail, everything thrown out of proportion by the dark that encompassed the land, swathing the world in deep greys and blacks.

When no shout or alarm rang out from above, Merlin moved slowly through the waist high waters alongside the steep bank, grassy fields giving way to cool rough stone of the castle wall. He placed a hand on the stone both for stability and guidance, his feet slipping over rocks and mud layering the river bed. His legs and hips were slowly going numb, the end of Gwaine's cloak being pulled with the current and threatening to take him along with it. He lost his footing once, silt giving way under his boots along the drop off under the water not a pace away from the bank he was walking along. His body dipped, the cold waters jumping up to his chest but he kept his balance thanks to the wall and quickly righted himself. But not before most of his body was soaked through.

Merlin ignored all of it. The shivers that now wracked his thin frame, the chill that seemed to have embedded itself into his bones, and the stiffness in his legs that begged him to retreat from the frigid waters and find someplace warm to hole up, they were trivial matters in comparison. He grit his teeth and pushed on, fingers searching for a break in the wall like a blind man searching for the light.

A little over halfway, his hand left the stone.

An alcove was set deep into the wall, its darkness impenetrable by the weak moonlight bouncing off the river. The river water was a little above Merlin's waist here, the cloak's hood brushing against the curved stone archway of the alcove. But Merlin could hear water running, echoing further down the channel and he knew he had found it.

The old postern gate. His way in.

With one hand still firmly on the alcove wall and one weaving through the water before him, Merlin waded forward, willingly stepping into the maw of the beast to be swallowed whole. He tried not to think too much, to put all his feelings, fears, and pains aside and rely on his instincts and senses. He couldn't afford to let his mind and thoughts get the better of him, not now. Arthur's life was at stake and if he hesitated, if he paused for too long his king, his destiny, it could all—

No, he wasn't going to think about it. He could ponder the what-ifs later when they were both safe in Camelot. But not now. Focus, he needed to focus on the task ahead and pay attention to his surroundings. There was a trap somewhere in the castle just waiting for him and there was no way he was going to fall into it.

The thought brought Merlin to a halt two paces into the corridor. The trap could be here for all he knew. They could have foreseen this, known he would use this old gate as his point of entry. He could already be in the trap.

Merlin closed his eyes and delved down inside himself, inviting his magic to the forefront. With his next exhale, he pushed it out, sending ethereal golden fingers reaching, searching the dark corridor for any out of place magic, anything that ought not to be. In his mind's eye, the darkness before him remained out of focus and uniform, the waters around him blurred and dull. A grey mass of unimportance in the wake of his golden tendrils. A fish, its body the dark grey of secular life, darted quickly out of the alcove and between his legs. But nothing sparked or sang out of the darkness with the power reserved only for the life of magic. The stone remained lifeless, quiet, and tired, the water glimmering grey with nothing but movement for as far as his magic could reach—which was only a handful of paces. He could not sense a thing, not even ordinary guards waiting further beyond the gate. Just the heavy dull grey silence of the mundane.

He opened his eyes, releasing the hold on his magic and letting it settle back into his veins. The world settled, his senses returning with the lap of the water against stone and cold chill permeating his bones. He could feel the drain of his energy, aches flaring anew but it was very little. Like the effort it took to make Arthur's bed each morning. Merlin rolled his shoulders with a wince. If it had been more taxing, he would have had to forgo the spell. A risk he was glad he wouldn't have to take.

The bars set further down the corridor posed a different problem. They wove through each other in a impregnable lattice of metal, cold and unrelenting under Merlin's fingers and sunk deep into the stone on all sides of the corridor. Merlin didn't bother trying to compare his meager physical strength with theirs. With a simple spell for silence and another prayer to the gods, his let his magic spring forth again, blasting the bars apart and leaving a sizable hole in the center.

He would just have to hope nobody above or within felt the slight shake of the stonework. But it was no use wasting time worrying over something he couldn't change. Assume the worst, hope for the best and carry on. That was all he could do.

Merlin picked his way through the hole, the water around him churning with his every movement, lapping at his rib cage as he trailed his fingers along the stone walls once more.

After a ways, the steady sound of water lapping at stone changed, echoing from ahead. Merlin squinted. The corridor had brightened, a pinprick of soft yellow light up ahead. He slowed his pace, ensuring the disturbed waters around him made no sound as he approached.

The corridor dropped off at the end, spilling out into a large chamber filled with—what little of the room Merlin could see from his vantage point—an expertly carved bath. Sconces lined the wall to bathe the room in light but only one was filled, the torch flame dancing merrily as it fought off the darkness. Soft murmurs and silent giggles wafted up from below, and Merlin paused in his approach.

Though he could hear the voices—one the deep, rough tones of a man the other a woman's tone, light and airy—he could not make out what they were saying. He crept closer until he was at the edge of the corridor, pressed against the shadowed wall, a tall lip about waist high barring a majority of the water from flooding the chamber beyond. He immediately sent his magic out again, feeling, seeking, searching the room. The pool below lit up like a slow burning fire in his mind's eye, simple magic embedded into the stones. Merlin frowned, trying to decipher the trap beyond. But there was none, he realized. The pool was magically heated. A quick scan of the rest of the chambers determined that no other magic permeated the room. Merlin released his hold.

He blinked, righting himself and leaned forward to peer out into the chambers.

A man—not Alined, thank the gods—sat lounging in the pool below, long dark hair floating around him on the water's surface. He had his hands all over a mousy woman, speaking to her, coaxing small giggles out of her. Both were naked, their clothes lying in a heap at the edge of the pool. They had clearly snuck into the baths without anyone's knowledge.

Merlin felt his face heat up and groaned. It wasn't like he was unfamiliar with the ways of men and women, but he didn't want to see it. And they were in his way. The only way out into the rest of the castle was through the bath house and he couldn't very well do that unseen. It was just his luck.

But he couldn't afford to wait for them to leave and quite frankly he didn't fancy standing here while the two lovebirds continued down their path. He just wanted to get Arthur and get the hell out of here.

With a whispered word muffled by his neckerchief across his face and a flash of gold in his eyes, the two figures in the pool slumped in sleep.

Merlin realized his mistake the moment the words left his lips.

He launched himself over the low wall and fell into the shallow pool below. The drop was further than he anticipated. His feet hit the bottom of the pool with jarring force as the water swept up to engulf him. He grimaced as pain lanced through him, his aches flaring up with vigor. But the warm water soothed his frozen body, a welcome change. He waded over to the two figures slowly slipping beneath the surface of the water and hoisted the man up, pushing his dead weight up onto the pool's edge before doing the same with the woman. He ignored their state of undress, only focused on making sure the two weren't harmed by his poor use of magic. No one should have to die tonight, not if he could help it.

Well, unless he came across Alined. The memory of Arthur's disembodied finger still burned through his mind.

With a new bout of anger igniting his determination, Merlin pulled himself out of the pool. There were two doorways leading off the bath house, a small arch in the far dark corner leading further into the bowels of the citadel, and one in the center of the wall, wide and inviting with stairs that beckoned him above ground and into the heart of the softly lit castle. He knew the upper levels would give him more room to roam, more space to explore and find the dungeons—and therefore Arthur—but there was no doubt in his mind that up above was where he would most likely come across trouble.

A quick search with his magic confirmed his suspicions. Some sort of invisible barrier stretched along the corridors and along the courtyard a few paces from the bath house exit. A signal of some sort perhaps? Or meant to incapacitate? He wasn't entirely sure but the whole thing hummed with an orange pulsing energy, threatening and more complicated than the simple heated stones of the pool but definitely not the work of some low level trickster.

Which meant Trickler was not alone.

Merlin cursed. The addition of another more powerful sorcerer certainly made his job a lot harder. The magical barrier was a clear sign that Alined knew he was coming—that Emrys was coming—and he was prepared.

Decision made, Merlin pulled the hood further over his face before dashing across to the side door. As he passed, he leaned down to ensure his two unintended victims were breathing. Then he made his way further below the castle.

It was probably best he remained below ground. Arthur was no doubt being kept under the main castle in the dungeons, playing the role of prisoner just like Alined wanted. So it was just a matter of navigating the twisting turning maze of corridors until he found the cells. Merlin knew it was all a gamble, that one wrong roll of the dice and the entire pot would be Alined's. But he could do nothing more than play the game and hope his magic would turn the tides in his favor.

The first guard took him by surprise. He had been checking corridors and rooms he passed with spurts of magic but he missed the slow moving grey figure at the very edge of his senses. And then he turned the corner and quite literally, ran right into him.

It took all of one heartbeat for the man to spring into action, bringing his sword up to slice across Merlin's body. But Merlin acted first, ripping the sword from the guard's hand with a quick flash of his eyes and pushing the man back until he lay stunned against the wall.

"Where is Arthur Pendragon," he hissed, his voice muffled behind his neckerchief. He grabbed the guard's shoulder with one hand, fingers digging into hard chainmail, the other drawn back and poised to strike with just a single word and a swirl of gold in his eyes.

He didn't want to hurt the man, but if he didn't get answers and find Arthur soon, he would resort to it.

The guard shook his head. Whether he had no inkling or wouldn't tell, Merlin didn't know but he didn't have time. He drew the man forward and smashed his head back into the wall, a flash of gold giving his arms a little extra strength and intimidation.

"I don't know," the guard stammered, wincing as he shook his head. "I ain't heard a word about him. The-the dungeons perhaps?"

"Where?" Merlin growled, low and deep, threatening the man with a swirl of gold in his eyes.

The guard glanced to the right, further down the hallway. "Left, right, through the archway and down the next corridor."

Merlin nodded. "Thank you. Sorry about this." He whispered a word, feeling his magic rush to the surface and the man slumped, asleep.

Exhaustion washed over Merlin then and he stumbled, catching himself on the stone walls of the corridor. A beat passed then two, the dizziness slowly passing. Merlin righted himself, shaking off the increasing aches. He looked down at the guard, knowing he couldn't just leave the man there, not if he hoped his presence to remain a secret. But there was nowhere to hide the man. The corridor was bare, not a doorway or alcove to be seen. And he couldn't drag the man along. His energy was waning even as it was.

With no options left, Merlin bent back down and whispered a few words, spending precious energy as his magic did his bidding. A current washed over the guard, cascading over his slumped body, hiding him from plain sight. Unless someone knew he was there or accidently stumbled into his body, he would remain unseen. It was the best Merlin could do. He needed to keep moving.

Merlin followed the guard's directions, keeping his senses alert and his magic constantly probing the space beyond. A few magicked objects or spaces flared up in his inner eye along the way. A cool silver trigger warning spread across a corridor, a weak but no less damning sickly yellow curse spread across the stone floor, and a few airy blue traps. But Merlin was able to disarm them or avoid them without too much difficulty. Their construction was nothing but simple woven strands of magic like a poorly constructed linen and he had no doubt they had been casted by Trickler. A bit of probing and poking and his own magic found the holes, easily tearing the entire spell apart with a small pulse of energy. But it was energy he didn't have.

Merlin was panting hard by the time he reached the dungeons, the stench of decay and filth permeating the air. His pace was uneven, faltering. He was stumbling, his hand never leaving the wall of the corridor. But he was determined and he would not allow his body the rest it craved, not until he found Arthur and got him to safety.

It was a mantra that kept him going.

Cells upon cells lined the corridor beyond, their metal wet and rusted in places but still giving off an ominous imposing air. The air was bitterly cold, seeping into Merlin's sopping wet clothes and burrowing deep into his flesh, sending shivers throughout his limbs. Arthur was here, he just knew it.

With another flash of his eyes, Merlin sent his magic out again, feeling the room, searching for any hidden magic or mundane guards, anything that could hinder his progress or sound the alarm. Layer upon layer of thin sheets of pulsing magic surrounded a cell near the end of the corridor, their orange glow threatening, intimidating. And there on the cot within, just a simple light grey of mundane life, lay Arthur. It could be no one else.

Relief flooded Merlin. He had found his king at last.

A quick inspection of the woven barrier told Merlin all he needed to know. It was stronger than others he had come across, the layers adding to one another, strengthening the invisible wall. But it wasn't impenetrable. Not for Merlin.

He probed at the wall, finding the vulnerable pockets and carefully threading his magic through them. It took concentration, and energy he didn't have but it was necessary. The last barricade between him and Arthur. He had no choice. Finally his magic poked through the other side. Merlin breathed in before releasing a burst of power and breaking apart the woven magic. In his inner eye, he watched it shatter without a sound.

He staggered, down the hallway, passing empty cells, the only sign of their former occupants the lingering smell of death and filth. When he reached Arthur's cell, he peered in, spying the outline of a sleeping figure on the cot, a thin blanket wrapped tightly around the shivering form. With his remaining strength, Merlin pushed his magic and unlocked the cell door, throwing himself inside.

"Arthur." The figure on the cot stirred, the dirty mop of blonde hair peeking out from under the blanket shifting. "Arthur, it's Merlin. Are you alright, can you stand?"

The blanket flung back and Merlin barely registered the unfamiliar features, the cold, dark eyes before something shot out at him. He threw up his magic on instinct, stumbling backwards and away from the figure on the cot who was definitely not Arthur.

It was a trap, just like one he swore he wouldn't fall into.

He cursed to himself. He had been so sure that it was Arthur, so desperate to find the king that he hadn't even thought of a decoy. The magical barrier had been the perfect reassurance. He had been so sure.

But if Arthur wasn't here, then where was he being kept?

The man on the cot, swung his legs over, lowering the long thin reed from his lips that he had aimed at Merlin and gave a sharp shrill whistle. Merlin pushed his resisting magic to the forefront, preparing to knock the man out, send him flying, or something. The sound of screeching hinges and loud footsteps reached his ears.

He was truly trapped.

With a roar of anger, Merlin shot out with his magic, throwing the man in the cell backwards with pure energy. His vision wavered, darkness encroaching as nausea washed over him. He staggered to the side, throwing an arm out to steady himself on the bars but missing completely. Grabbing at air, he fell to the stone floor, hard.

It was then that he registered the pinch in his right arm. He looked down, body heavy with drowsiness as his strength faded and vision blurred. But he was still able to make out the bright green feathered dart sticking out of his arm. A poison dart.

The footsteps were loud now, vibrating through the floor under his head. He didn't remember lying down but it mattered little. He was caught, vulnerable, useless now, the darkness all he could see. Sound faded with the hum of a commanding voice. But only one thought ran through Merlin's head.

He had failed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been so freaking long, but here you guys go, another chapter. Enjoy!

A hard slap rocked Merlin back into the land of the waking. He gasped, eyes snapping open as his head whipped to the side with the force. Grey damp stones swam through his vision, going in and out of focus. The pounding in his head brought it all back, entering Alined’s castle, looking for Arthur, the ruse, a dart, and then...nothing. Merlin groaned as he shifted, trying to bring a hand to his head but found his arms immobilized, tied to the back of the chair he was sitting in.

“Emrys.” Merlin looked up to the speaker. Alined stood before him, four guards flanking him in the cold cell. He looked just as he had all those years ago, balding, wrinkled, his rat-face displaying sick glee at having Merlin tied up and at his mercy before him. 

Well, Emrys that is. 

Merlin contemplated feigning ignorance but there really was no use. He had used magic in front of witnesses, throwing men against the walls as the dart’s poison took ahold. He could feel his neckerchief draped against his neck, no longer hiding his features, the hood of Gwaine’s cloak lying against his back. They knew who he was and what he was here for. There was no use denying it. Might as well meet the threat head on with everything he had.

Merlin tilted his chin up and glared at the king before him. “Alined.” 

Alined slapped him hard, leaving his cheek hot and stinging, his eyes watering with the pain. “You will address me properly, sorcerer.”

Merlin stayed silent, taking a few moments to gather himself and focus on breathing slowly and evenly. He could feel a cough building in his throat but he swallowed it down. Now was not the time to show any sign of weakness. Not if he was to ensue Arthur’s survival.

Alined looked down at him, the glee still shining in his eyes but his face had turned puzzled. “You are nothing but a peasant boy.” 

Merlin ignored the slight. “Where is Arthur?”

“Yet, I have seen your face somewhere…” Alined frowned down at him and Merlin tried so very hard not to roll his eyes in annoyance. Honestly, he didn’t have time for this. 

“It’s Arthur’s meddlesome servant. Merlin.” Trickler’s high pitched voice interrupted as he came into the room. But he wasn’t alone.

Merlin paled as Trickler dragged Arthur into the room, bound, gagged, and with a knife at his throat. His king looked a little worse for wear, more rumpled and dirtied, still missing his chainmail and armor which were rusting away somewhere out in the woods. His jerkin was open, the tunic beneath far too short from all the bandages he had ripped from it and it was stained with dirt and splotches of blood as were his breeches. But Merlin’s attention snapped to Arthur’s left hand as the pair came to a halt just inside the cell. The appendage wrapped hastily in white bandages up the the wrist and tinged with blood around where the forefinger would lay. 

Merlin closed his eyes briefly trying to calm his guilty heart. He had hoped that it had all been a simple deception, that Arthur’s finger still remained attached to his hand and another poor soul’s digit had been sent to Camelot instead. But the evidence before him washed away all hope. His king had been mutilated, permanently disabled and it was all Merlin’s fault. He had put Arthur through all this pain and agony and now he couldn’t even see a way to get them out of it.

At least, not without magic. Another wave of guilt crashed over Merlin for an entirely different reason. The reveal he knew, would only serve to hurt Arthur more but there was nothing for it. It was either reveal his true nature or condemn his king to death at the hands of a destitute king. The choice, although monumental, was an easy one to make in the end.

“Oh, my. Arthur’s personal manservant?” Alined asked, amused. “How intriguing. This is turning out better than I had hoped.”

Merlin painfully swallowed down another building cough, breathing evenly through his nose and trying to calm his racing heart. He began coaxing his weakened magic to the surface, allowing it to fill him up with warmth and strength, ready to be used when the time arose.

“What do you want, Alined?” he growled, earning himself another slap to the face. Arthur glared daggers at the cruel king.

Alined tsked like a parent disciplining his child. “Manners, sorcerer, manners.” 

Merlin cringed inward with the word, glancing over at Arthur to gage his reaction. Arthur was looking between Merlin and Alined, his brow pinched together in confusion and disbelief in his eyes. His gaze finally caught Merlin’s own and Merlin poured all the trust and loyalty he held for Arthur into that one look, hoping something would get through to his king.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” he whispered. Arthur frowned further in confusion but Merlin tore his gaze away.

He looked back at Alined, forcing himself to forget about betrayal, secrets, and their consequences. Arthur was all that mattered, getting him out alive and intact. The cost was of little importance.

“What do you want, _sire_.” Merlin spit the title out like a bad taste in his mouth.

Trickler hummed in delight as Alined smirked down at Merlin in triumph. “Why you, of course, dear Emrys. I want you and all the magic at your disposal.”

Arthur made a sound behind the gag but Merlin ignored him, forcing himself to stay focused. His magic was thrumming through his veins, ready, but with Arthur being used as leverage, he had to bide his time. 

“Why do you need me? You’ve got Trickler.” He kept his voice as calm as he could even while his heart raced and ached with despair.

Alined laughed making a flippant gesture toward his jester. “Trickler is an idiot. Damn near useless.”

“Sire?” Trickler asked, his voice tinged with hurt. Alined ignored him.

Merlin chuckled to himself, muttering, “Some would say the same about me.”

“You?” Alined said. “Oh, I doubt that. The great Emrys. You are far from useless.”

Merlin nodded toward Arthur without looking his way. “Arthur would definitely disagree with you on that point.”

No sound came from Arthur’s direction and Merlin didn’t know whether that was a good sign or a bad one. 

“But Arthur doesn’t know who you are, does he? Not entirely.” Alined glanced behind him and Merlin couldn’t help but follow his gaze. “Seems he does now.”

Arthur was standing rigid in Trickler’s grasp, his eyes round with shock and betrayal. Hurt and anger in equal measures were rolling off him in waves, nostrils flared, lips parted around the gag in his mouth. The disbelief was still swimming through his eyes as though even after all that had transpired, he still didn’t want to believe what he was hearing. 

“Arthur,” Merlin began but his king shook his head vehemently and looked toward the cell floor.

Merlin’s heart broke as his breath caught in his throat, triggering the bout of coughing he had tried so desperately to hold back. He bent over as far as his bindings would allow, coughing, gagging and sputtering as he tried desperately to catch his breath. His lungs strained, ribs protesting further abuse but air refused to enter his lungs. 

Finally he gasped, taking in lungful of air and coughing once more before his lungs settled and he was able to take sufficient albeit shallow breaths. With it came his body’s reminder that he was still far from healthy. His energy and magic flagged.

Some all-powerful warlock he was. An ailing body and simple cough seemed to be all it took to render him useless these days. Arthur had been right all along.

“I have a proposition for you Emrys.” Alined said, ignoring Merlin’s brief sign of weakness and bringing everyone’s focus back on him. “Well, more of a demand really.” He nodded to Trickler who pressed the blade harder against Arthur’s skin. Arthur tensed, face now masked with indifference.

“You are going to bind yourself to my will, to my every command and whim using a blood oath and in return I shall not harm your precious king.”

Merlin glared at Alined with all the fire he could muster still hunched and panting as he was. “No,” he rasped.

Alined looked taken aback, surprise marring his features. “No? I will kill him if you don’t.”

“And you’ll make me carry out the deed if I do. I know how this game works, Alined.” Pain flared as his head whipped to the side with the force of another blow.

“I am _my lord_ to you, sorcerer.”

Merlin shook his head as he straightened in the chair, sorrow welling up in him. “Arthur is the only king I will ever serve. I would rather die than serve you.”

Alined stepped closer, unsheathing the sword at his waist and leveling it at Merlin’s heart. Merlin leaned back as far as the chair would allow and tried to take even breaths.

“That can be arranged,” Alined said coldly, his eyes laced with steel as they bore into Merlin’s own.

Merlin just stared back, daring Alined to kill the thing he had gone through so much trouble to capture. The thing he wanted most. Alined grit his teeth in anger and Merlin watched as his confidence wavered.

He lowered the sword, glaring at Merlin for a beat more before smiling. “Fine.” He suddenly whirled around and pointed his sword at Arthur’s heart. “I’ll just kill him then since he means so little to you. We shall see how Camelot fares without its precious king.”

Merlin’s heart seized with fear but he forced himself to maintain a mask of calm anger. He couldn’t let Alined know how much he truly would do for Arthur. How far he would go to prevent his death. “You do that and you won’t leave this room alive.”

Alined seemed to ponder his words, contemplating the truth behind them. Merlin saw the moment he made his decision, drawing his arm back for the strike. 

“NO!” Magic raced through Merlin’s body and burst out, chaotic and uncontrollable in his desperation. Alined, Trickler and the four guards all flew back and away from Arthur as a wave of pure power rammed into them. Trickler crashed against the wall, his head cracking on the stones before falling limp to the floor of the cell. Alined was more fortunate, hitting the bars behind him and sliding down, merely dazed. 

Merlin slumped in the chair as his head swam and his vision blurred. Exhaustion washed over him, threatening to send him into oblivion. But he held onto consciousness, knowing they had precious little time before their adversaries had the advantage once more. 

His arms fell limp at his sides as he forced himself to move, the bonds broken in the blast. Moving took most of Merlin’s concentration, his limbs sluggish and heavy. He had to push through and get Arthur out of there though, he had to make sure his king was safe. 

Arthur’s face was awash with shock when Merlin looked up. There was a shallow cut on his neck where Trickler’s knife had nicked him and the remains of the rope that had bound him hung uselessly from his left wrist. He had tugged the gag from his mouth at some point while Merlin was struggling to overcome his exhaustion and was now gaping open-mouthed at his servant, frozen in place.

“Arthur, we have to go.” Merlin’s knees buckled as he tried to take a step and he crashed to the stone floor on all fours, wincing as pain lanced up his aching body. Arthur jerked where he stood like he wanted to race forward to help Merlin but held himself back. Merlin tried not to let the despair overcome him at what it all meant but he couldn’t help the tears welling up in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry Arthur, I’m so so sorry.” He glanced up at his king, pleading with him. But his attention was drawn to the guard now directly behind Arthur, sword raised to strike him down.

“Arthur, look out!” Merlin shouted in warning and Arthur whirled around, dodging to the right on instinct just as the sword swiped through the air where he stood not a moment ago. He jumped back as the guard swung again, his back colliding with the bars of the cell and dodging again. Alined’s hand shot out from where the he lay dazed at the foot of the bars and swiped at Arthur’s leg, sending him crashing to the ground. The guard moved to strike.

Desperate, Merlin grabbed ahold of his waning magic and pushed it out with all his might. The guard flew back once more, hitting the back wall and slumping bonelessly to the floor. Merlin sighed, collapsing in on himself, completely spent as his breathing became labored and shallow, an itch tickling his throat as his whole body continued to ache.

But two more guards were on their feet now, swords pointed at an unarmed Arthur, Arthur scrambled back toward Merlin just as Alined too stumbled to his feet, sword at the ready. 

“Bind yourself to me and this can all end,” he spat, anger distorting his features.

Merlin shook his head, wincing as it aggravated his building headache. “No.”

“Arthur shall not be harmed, by me or anyone else’s hand.”

“No!”

Alined roared with rage, striking out just as Merlin roared too, leaping on Arthur and let the last vestiges of his magic run wild.

A gust of wind surrounded them, whirling and twisting around them blotting out the cell and the men threatening them. The air around them seemed to grow thinner, sucking the breath from Merlin’s lungs until he was sure he would die, suffocating at the hands of his own magic. Direction and reality distorted until he could no longer discern which way was up and which way was down and whether they were anywhere at all. He just clung to Arthur with all his might, letting his king be his anchor and hoped he hadn’t just doomed them to a worse fate. 

And then it all just stopped. Merlin blinked trying to make out their surroundings in the sudden darkness. He could feel dirt beneath his hands, a gentle breeze cooling his sweaty brow as the smell of fresh forest air surrounded him. But before he could make sense of any of it, exhaustion slammed into him like a mighty rival and he fell into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one or two more chapters then an epilogue and this story is all done! Wow....weird...


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know, its been a while. Sorry about that. Life, work and everything in between got in the way. But I have a nice decent sized chapter here for you guys so I hope you all enjoy it. I also included a brief overview of what happened so far because well I know its been too long and most of you guys don't remember (again, sorry about that). Anyway, here's the next chapter! ENJOY!
> 
>  
> 
> _Overview: Merlin and Arthur were captured by mercenaries, escaped but Merlin obtained some sort of illness after almost choking on his own vomit. They make it to a small village to get Merlin help but can't stay long and leave. As Arthur raced to get them back to Camelot and get Merlin to Gaius, the mercenaries caught up to them, took Arthur and left Merlin for dead. Arthur was taken to Alined's castle, Merlin was found by the knights and taken back to Camelot and Gaius. Gaius was forced to try and heal Merlin with a spell and it worked but Merlin's lungs were left as weak as his body. But he overheared Gwen reading a letter addressed to Emrys, demanding he come to Alined's castle or Arthur would die. So of course, Merlin went to leave but Gwaine and Percival demand to go with him and he reluctantly agreed. Merlin spelled the two men asleep at their camp near Alined's castle and stole into the fortress by himself but a trap was set and Merlin was knocked out by a dart. He woke to Alined, guards and Trickler threatening a bound Arthur and Alined demanded he, Emrys, bind himself and his magic to Alined's whims with a blood oath but Merlin refused. Alined went to kill Arthur, Merlin blasted everyone away with magic, revealing himself and releasing both himself and Arthur. When the men started to surround them again, Merlin, in desperation, flung himself on Arthur and let his magic go, transporting them somewhere away and outside before exhaustion swept through him and he fell unconscious._
> 
>  
> 
> _And so we continue..._

Magic. Merlin had….magic.

It was a dream—well a nightmare more like it—it had to be. There was no other explanation. His servant, the man who had stood by his side, helped him, advised him, and was more like a brother to him than a friend, couldn't be a sorcerer.

And yet as they slammed into the soft dirt, the sound of the forest and trees enveloping them as the swirling wind vanished, Arthur couldn't deny it any longer. Gone were the cold stone floor of the dungeon cell, gone was Alined, the guards, Trickler, every hint of fortress he had been captive in for the past...days, weeks? He had no idea any more. All he knew was that he was no longer within the confines of the castle and reason for it was falling limp lying beside him in the dirt.

Merlin. A sorcerer.

Arthur scrambled away, twigs and underbrush digging into his palms and arms and back, the remains of the ropes that had bound him falling away. But he didn't care. His mind was reeling and all he knew was that he had to get away, he had to put distance between himself and that….that thing.

Logically, he knew deep down that this was Merlin, his friend, his brother, his confidant. But the part of him that had grown up with his father's teachings, hearing the stories, seeing the destruction, the death, the madness of sorcerers, sprung forth and took over. Bile rose up in his throat as he looked at the now unconscious painfully familiar sorcerer and his stomach flipped. He turned to the side and heaved, nothing spilling forth but his body refused to give up, heaving twice more before relaxing somewhat.

Merlin had magic.

Arthur continued to stare at the man he thought he knew. For years Merlin had been by his side, clumsy, idiotic, unassuming, an open book. Or so Arthur thought. Had it all been an act? Had he been toying with him, manipulating him, ensorcelling him this whole time? Arthur had no way of knowing. Everything up until now had been a lie, he could see that now. All the helping hands, the sage advice, the loyalty, all of it a deception toward an end goal of...of….of what?

What could Merlin possibly be planning? He had never asked for laws to be changed, never strove to push Arthur in any direction that would have lead to Camelot's downfall. Obviously he didn't want Arthur dead or he would have been dead years ago.

Hell, he would have just let Arthur rot in Alined's castle if that was the case.

But he hadn't. He had risked his own life and exposure for—

"Arthur?" Arthur whirled his head around at the familiar voice, startled. Gwaine stood at the edge of the tree line, sword in hand, surprise and confusion written all over his face. Leaves crunched underfoot signalling the approach of another and soon enough, Percival was standing there too, his face morphing from worry to shock to confusion in the span of a heartbeat as he locked eyes with Arthur.

Percival lowered his sword, "Sire, how did you—"

"Merlin?!" Gwaine's shout cut him off as the knight's eyes alighted on the dark-haired servant still lying prostrated just a few paces from Arthur. He rushed forward.

Arthur sprang to his feet, his body seeming to move of its own violation as his mind still whirled with questions and uncertainty. "Don't!" he warned, stepping in front of Merlin and blocking Gwaine's path with his maimed hand. He could still feel the pain throbbing through his whole arm but it was dulled in comparison to the conflict warring in his own mind.

Gwaine ground to a halt just before Arthur, "What? Why, what's wrong with him?" He met Arthur's eyes, then flicked his attention back to Merlin, eyes searching for a source of ailment.

Arthur couldn't answer, he didn't have any words to describe what he was feeling. He didn't even know what he was feeling, only what he knew what he should be feeling. Betrayed, hurt, angry, vengeful. But his mind was whirling and nothing was sticking. He just needed everything, everyone to freeze for a moment, give him some space to sort this out.

Gwaine frowned when Arthur failed to respond and made to move around him.

Desperation overtook Arthur, "Wait, wait WAIT!"

"Arthur." It came more of a growl than a question as the knight's eyes glinted with anger and confusion.

"Just stop, stop," Arthur breathed. He couldn't explain why he didn't want Gwaine near Merlin, didn't know if it was because he absurdly thought Gwaine would catch Merlin's sorcery like a disease, didn't want to know what had befallen Merlin that would undoubtedly incite pity and worry in him, or if he planned to leave him there to rot like the sorcerer he was. Nothing made sense anymore and until it did, he needed everything to just stop and take a moment. "Let me….let me think," he finished lamely.

Gwaine's face hardened into anger. "Think?! What is there to think about?!" he shouted. He gestured behind Arthur toward the still unconscious servant. "Merlin is hurt, he could be dying and you want to think this through?"

"Gwaine you have no idea what happened…"

"I don't give a damn what happened!" Gwaine raged. "All I can see is the result and that's good enough for me. Now either you step aside, _sire_ or I will, respectively, make you. Your choice."

Anger flared up in Arthur. "Step down Sir Gwaine, that is an order."

"Which I shall again, respectively decline." And with that he pushed roughly past Arthur and knelt down at Merlin's side.

Arthur seethed and made to take a step forward and...and do something but a large hand on his shoulder stopped him. He hadn't even heard Percival's approach.

"Come on, sire," the large knight said calmly, "let's patch you up."

Arthur shrugged Percival off, "I'm fine."

Percival pointed at Arthur's neck. "You're bleeding."

Arthur reached up with his good hand and felt his neck, wincing as a stinging pain lancing through him as he brushed his fingers over the center of his throat. When he pulled his hand back, his fingers were painted with blood.

Percival gently took his elbow and Arthur let himself be escorted away. He hadn't even felt the cut, hadn't felt much of any pain at all. It must have happened when Trickler had been blast back by Merlin. With magic.

Before he knew it, Arthur's mind began whirling again. When Trickler had confessed to Arthur a few days ago that the only reason he was there was to be nothing more than bait for an all powerful sorcerer, Arthur had laughed in his face—and gotten a punch to the gut for it. What sorcerer would care about the king of magic-hating Camelot? He had thought for sure that their plan would fail and he would have to find a way out himself. But for all his supposed faults, Trickler was damn good at keeping him prisoner.

And then when he had been dragged down into the cells to see not the supposed all-powerful warlock he had expected, but instead his clumsy presumed dead servant bound to the chair, he hadn't thought anything of it. He had been elated that Merlin was alive and yet fearful for his current predicament.

Never had he expected his servant and this so-called all-powerful warlock would be one and the same. It just...it didn't make sense. Merlin was not a sorcerer, he wasn't devious, conniving, evil, or even remotely inept enough to be a sorcerer. He hadn't ever once tried to hurt, maim, or kill Arthur, or to tear Camelot down. Just looking at him, there was nothing to suggest Merlin had even a scrap of magic in him.

That is except their current surroundings. The whirlwind. The flashing gold eyes. The men that had been thrown across the room with just a look.

There was no denying it. Merlin had betrayed him.

In the span of a single heartbeat, all the trust, the loyalty, the friendship that had built up over the years between them had crumbled down. With that single revelation, Merlin became a complete strange in all but appearance.

It was like Morgana all over again. Agravaine. Gwen with Lancelot. All of them betrayed him, left him picking up the pieces of their relationships and hardening his heat, fearful of trusting anyone else. But this, this seemed different. This was worse.

Pain, hot and fierce seared through Arthur's hand and up his arm, yanking him back into the present. He grimaced and tried to draw his hand in towards his body.

Percival released Arthur's wrist where he had been unwrapping the king's poorly bandaged hand and held up his hands in a placating gesture. "My apologies, sire."

Arthur blinked trying to clear his mind of the turmoil it was in and looked around him. They sat by the remains of a small campfire, three bedrolls laid out around it with horses tethered a few paces away quietly grazing on the underbrush. Gwaine was sitting on the bedroll opposite them, trying in vain to coax some water down a still unresponsive Merlin. Arthur felt a pang of worry spike through him at the sight but he pushed it aside. He had no recollection of having arrived here nor of having sat down, but it mattered little.

The sky above was the yawning blue of the first light of a new day, the forest surrounding the small clearing slowly coming alive with birdsong. He had no idea how much time had passed since….since the cell. This was the first of the outside world he had seen since arriving at Alined's castle.

"What...what are you two doing here anyway?" Arthur suddenly asked, offering his hand back to Percival's ministrations. He could feel the tug of a bandage around his neck and the poor excuse around his hand was half unraveled. The man may not be a skilled healer but he was able to sort him out better than he could himself with only one hand.

A shudder ran through Arthur as Percival resumed his task. He looked away, not wanting to see the wound, to see what had become of his hand, the tool he relied upon most to defend his people, his family, himself. He didn't want to see the cripple he had become.

"We came for you, sire." Percival answered. "At Merlin's insistence."

"Merlin." Arthur deadpanned, betrayal thick in his tone.

Percival nodded. "Well more like we joined him at our own insistence."

Arthur hummed in response. A slight tug on his hand made him wince. The large knight apologized once more.

After a brief moment of silence, Percival spoke again, "Sire, if I may? What...what happened?"

"Nothing." Arthur answered a little too quickly.

"Did Alined—"

"No."

Percival finished tying the fresh bandage around Arthur's hand "But how did you escape—"

Arthur yanked back his hand and stood up, cutting off any further questioning. "We better get going. They are bound to send a search party out after us."

Percival looked like he wanted to argue, to continue pestering Arthur with questions but he closed his mouth and stood with a nod, ever the loyal knight. "Yes sire."

Everything after that had been done in silence. Percival had busied himself packing up their meager supplies and loading the horses while Gwaine was too busy caring for Merlin and trying to wake him to engage in conversation. Not that he would, the unruly knight seemed to be irritated with Arthur, if the glaring looks he shot him were anything to go by.

And soon enough, they were riding North in silence at the edge of a small seldom traveled road, just hidden within the treeline. The sky was awash with the warm colors of the early morning, painting the edges of the cotton clouds. It was rare to see so much sunlight this late in the season but Arthur wasn't about to complain. It was a good omen surely, that fate was on their side for once.

Alined would have scrounged up a search party by now, but Arthur was confident enough that they were keeping well ahead of them. They would make it to Camelot, they had to.

If he was honest with himself, he was worried about Merlin. Even though he hadn't been watching the man, choosing instead to avoid looking or even acknowledging his presence, he had heard the worry in Gwaine's voice, seen the frustration in his movements, and felt the concern rolling off both the men for their fallen comrade. Merlin had remained unresponsive since their magical arrival in the clearing, and nothing Gwaine or Percival had done, had even remotely roused him. He hadn't so much as twitched, not even when Gwaine tried and failed to get some broth in him, but his breathing was shallow, pulse jumping erratically, and Gwaine had also mentioned he was slightly warm to the touch. It was worrying indeed and became even more concerning the longer he remained in such a state. Even now as they rode, Merlin didn't so much as groan or twitch or even cough as he sat in front of Gwaine on the horse.

Arthur didn't outwardly show it but he was, just like before in the small village, very concerned for Merlin's welfare. And it angered him to know he could still feel such an emotion towards Merlin, towards a sorcerer, after all he had learned.

"Alright, that's enough," Gwaine's voice tinged with anger and annoyance, broke through the peace, snapping Arthur's focus from his musings. "What the bloody hell is going on?" Arthur chanced a glance over at Gwaine and found the man's attention focused on him. "You haven't once checked on Merlin or asked how he is, haven't barely even looked at him, and your face resembles the backend of a boar."

Arthur huffed, staring forward once more as he let his face relax into an expression of indifference. "It's none of your business Gwaine."

"None of my—," Gwaine began, before cutting himself off and switching tactics. "You show up out of nowhere quite near our campsite, with a nick on your throat and Merlin completely unconscious and you don't think that's any of our business? Tell me, would you have left Merlin there if we hadn't come along? Would you have left him alone, to die in the middle of enemy territory? Or were you going to actually give a fuck about your friend and help him?"

Arthur didn't respond, all the thoughts and emotions and feelings of betrayal and confusion and uncertainty slammed into him full force, threatening to send him back under. He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to face the fact that the one person he had grown to care for, to trust wholeheartedly, to love, had lied to him his whole life. Had betrayed him, hurt him, tore out his soul and ripped it to shreds in the span of a heartbeat. He didn't want to face the fact that Merlin, his loyal Merlin, was breaking the law right now and had been for years, right under his very nose.

Gwaine let out a humorless laugh. "That's the thanks he gets for just about killing himself to free you? But you don't care do you? He's just a servant to you, nothing more, I see that now. Are you ashamed that a servant was able to break you out, is that it? Did he wound your kingly pride and steal your glory?"

"Gwaine…" Percival warned.

"No, I'm not going to keep quiet because this, this is exactly why I don't trust nobles like you. Only looking out for yourselves without a care in the world who you step on along the way. Merlin is the one who told me you were different, that he trusted and believed in you. Guess he was wrong for once."

"It's Merlin who can't be trusted!" Arthur snapped, glaring daggers at Gwaine and his charge.

The anger fled from Gwaine face, replaced with shock and was that a bit of fear? "What?"

"He….he lied to me," Arthur said, quieter but still laced with anger. "For years. Betrayed the entirety of the kingdom. I can't trust him anymore."

Silence fell between the three men, the steady crunch and snap of twigs under the horses' hooves the only sound.

"You know." Gwaine said after a while, his voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur glanced over at Gwaine, something akin to trepidation building up in his stomach. "What?"

Gwaine was staring right at Arthur, not in shock or anger, but with a sad resignation on his face. And a bit of fear. "You know, don't you?"

"Know what?"

"About Merlin."

Arthur's heart plummeted. Gwaine knew. There could be no denying what he was talking about. Gwaine had known this whole time and never said anything. In the eyes of the law, Gwaine was just as guilty as Merlin, for harboring a sorcerer, for knowing about him and not saying anything. Were they working together? Had they planned this betrayal all along. Again, Arthur logically knew this couldn't be the case, there was too much evidence and clues to invalidate their plotting against the crown. But his father's words and teachings refused to let up, clawing their way to the surface and laying doubt in every piece of evidence and logical explanation Arthur scrounged up from the past.

Arthur feigned ignorance, not wanting to admit his doubts and assumptions. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Yes, you do." Gwaine's voice was even.

Arthur remained silent, staring at the forest ahead.

Gwaine sighed, anger returning a fraction but he remained calm in his demeanor. "You can trust him, you know. He's still the same Merlin you knew, always has been. Just now you understand he's not as helpless as you once thought." Gwaine paused for a beat, shifting the limp Merlin into a more comfortable position his arms. "Present predicament excluded, of course."

Arthur chanced a glance at the man leaning bonelessly against the knight. Gwaine's words struck a chord in him, nudging that logical side of him that continued to remain convinced of Merlin's innocence, that he was still the same man he had always known. His mind was still whirling and his emotions were still raging about the revelation but it didn't matter much. He could speculate all he wanted, assume and accuse and scream and rage. But the fact remained that he would never really know the truth not until he talked to Merlin himself. And to do that, they needed to get him to Gaius and fast. Arthur would sit him down for a nice long chat once they made it back to Camelot and recovered.

The sound of a horn split through the air, shouts of men in the distance followed by the barking of dogs. Arthur's eyes widened as he glanced over at Gwaine and Percival, both men looking equally surprised at the proximity of the noises.

That is, if they made it back to Camelot.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once more, my friends. As always, sorry for the long delay. I'm horrible, I know. Next fic, I'll make sure to have a lot of it written before I post. In other news though, I met Eoin Macken and Tom Hopper in person this week at their LA premiere of Leopard (aka Cold). Lovely human beings, so nice to talk to. Hope to be able to work with them someday.
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I am a little unsure about it so let me know what you all think please. Your criticism helps me improve my stories and writing. If you need a refresher, there's a story overview at the beginning of the previous chapter. 
> 
> ENJOY!

Arthur thought their pursuers would give up once they passed over into Camelot. He thought Alined would have realized it was a lost cause, cut his losses and return to his fortress before he risked starting an all-out war.

He was wrong.

Nothing seemed to deter Alined's men, not the darkness of night nor the several times they seemed to lose the small Camelot party's trail. Only once the white stone walls of the castle could be seen through the trees did the sounds of their dangerously close pursuers fall back before ceasing altogether. By that time, Arthur was nearly dead in his saddle.

Three days of constant movement, on high alert without sleep would do that to a man. Layer it on top of the week or so he spent on edge, in pain and at the mercy of Alined and it was a miracle his body hadn't already given up.

Merlin's had however.

The young man hadn't regained consciousness since their flight from the fortress three days ago. No attempts to rouse him, nor excessive manhandling and movement had broken him out of his state. Gwaine had only managed to get a few mouthfuls of water into him and even that was a struggle.

Arthur couldn't help but worry. The instinct was hard to shake. After years of ensuring his servant didn't impale himself on a sword or trip over a root and knock himself silly, the sight of Merlin, limp and unresponsive had Arthur's stomach clenching. Even as he reminded himself that those years were tainted with lies, betrayal, and with magic, his instinctual fear for his once-friend's health would not be denied.

And that only fueled the rage coursing through Arthur's veins.

"Your Majesty?"

"He's returned?"

"The King, the King has returned! Inform Her Majesty."

"Fetch the physician!"

"Your Majesty? Your Majesty!"

The world tilted on its axis, snapping Arthur out of his exhausted haze. Hands were on him, steadying him as he fell, lowering him off his horse. He shook his head, blinking at his surroundings as he tried to get his bearings. The courtyard. They had reached the courtyard. He didn't even remember entering the lower town let alone breaking the tree line toward the castle. Everything of the past day was a blur.

He brushed off the hands holding him steady as he finally found his feet. The men around him retreated to the proper distance as a familiar knight approached and grasped Arthur's forearm in greeting.

"Leon," Arthur breathed, relieved to see a familiar face. He squeezed the knight's forearm in return, taking the subtle support offered.

"Sire." Leon nodded. "It's good to have you back."

"Good to be back."

Leon opened his mouth to say something more, but a cry and a flurry of movement from the castle steps stole his attention and both men turned to face the new arrival.

Gwen raced down the steps, her dark hair billowing behind her as she hiked her skirts. She was a balm to Arthur's aching heart, the longing for home he had felt ever since his capture. It was meagre in the face of the new found aches and pains that ravaged him, both physically and especially mentally but it was soothing nonetheless. Despite his weariness and the deep-set ache in his bones, Arthur smiled.

"Arthur?" she cried as she raced the last few steps toward him, tears watering her eyes. "Oh my, Arthur!"

Gwen stopped a hairsbreadth before him, hesitant to touch lest she hurt him more. He could see it in her eyes, the uncertainty, the longing the relief at seeing him whole and alive before her. Instead she reached up and cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. He leaned into her touch, taking comfort in it, comfort he so desperately needed.

"Guinevere."

"Arthur, you're here. You're alive." She smiled up at him as her eyes trailed over his face. It was only when she gave his body a once over, wincing at the bandage around his neck before her gaze landed upon his bandaged hand that the tears fell. She whimpered. "I had hoped…"

Arthur gently tilted her chin up with his good hand until she met his eyes. "It's alright. I'm….I'm fine." Even to his ears the words sounded hollow. He was far from fine. Far from being alright in any sense. But he was king. He was the leader to his people, and he couldn't let his pain and misery show. He needed to be strong, for Gwen, for the kingdom, for everyone.

"Stretcher, I need a stretcher now!" Gwaine's voice broke through the moment, shattering any semblance of righting wrongs that Guinevere's presence had brought him. However feeble it had been, Arthur had hoped for just a moment that a bit of healing and rest would set things right and everything would return to normal. He could learn to live without a finger, could deal with the threat of Alined. That was all manageable.

For a moment, he had forgotten about...about Merlin.

He closed his eyes, anticipating, knowing before it happened how the scene around him was to play out. The moment Gwen's attention shifted from Arthur to the commotion behind him, her gasp, the flurry of movement and orders shouted by Gwaine and then by Gaius as he arrived not a beat later. The surprise, the concern, the fear and urgency.

Arthur felt the numbness spread through him, the anger, the hurt, the betrayal. Somehow, everyone else's concern and fear for his servant, for the sorcerer fueled his anger all the more. They didn't know, they didn't see. The evil, the traitor, the monster hiding behind an innocent guise. If they knew, would they still care for this man they once knew?

Should he?

"Oh gods, no," Gwen whispered, clutching Arthur's arm in fear. He opened his eyes and shrugged her off, striding toward the courtyard steps without a backwards glance. He couldn't deal with it all right now. He didn't want to face the questions, the confusion, the prying. It was all too much and he wasn't ready to give any answers.

First he had to answer his own questions himself. He needed to sort through his thoughts, his feelings, his judgment. Only then could he come to a rational decision. Only then could he pass judgement on his servant and dole out his sentence. Merlin's own explanation would help with that, but despite his desire to know the truth and get the sorcerer's side of the story, Arthur had no wish to face his former friend. He could not. Not now, not without making it worse and acting on his pain. Perhaps once Merlin was conscious, once they had both had time to rest and heal and think things through, then Arthur would be ready to face his servant. Until then, he needed to distance himself from it all, from everything.

Arthur kept walking, ignoring Gwen's calls and Leon's questions after his health. He ignored the well wishes and greetings from nobles and knights as he strode through the corridors and up the stairs. He only acknowledged the guard by his chamber doors long enough to order Gaius be fetched and that no one else be allowed to disturb him until tomorrow before striding into his chambers and locking the door behind him.

Only once he was alone, for the first time since their escape from Alined's fortress, did Arthur finally allow himself to break down.

He let the anger and hate and sorrow all burst out in angry shouts and thrown objects, in bruised knuckles and frustrated tears. He screamed and raged and punched the bed post until his good hand throbbed in time with his mutilated one, until his already waning energy was completely spent, and all that was left were the tears and bruises. Laying on his bed he gazed up at the canopy, letting the exhaustion wash over him as his thoughts continued to spiral out of control, following him into oblivion and overtaking his dreams.

Gaius woke him later, while the sunlight still bathed the castle. Arthur blearily opened his eyes at the gentle shake to his shoulder, his eyes slowly finding Gaius' wrinkled face. The old physician, to his credit, didn't question the state of Arthur's chambers nor the fresh bruises on Arthur's right hand as he examined him. Arthur was grateful. He still had no desire to answer any questions and just wanted to fall back and sleep for a week and forget any of this had ever happened.

But he knew it couldn't last. As Gaius wrapped Arthur's hand in fresh bandages, declaring him none the worse for wear in spite of the loss, he brought up the question Arthur least wanted to answer.

"If I may sire," Gaius began and Arthur tensed, knowing what was coming. "What happened out there? Gwaine said—"

"Nothing." Arthur said, repeating the answer he had given Gwaine. It was feeble and not an answer at all, and they both knew it.

"Arthur—"

Arthur shook his head, cutting Gaius off. "If that is all, Gaius, I am exhausted and I would like to get some rest."

Gaius closed his mouth, frowning at the lack of answers, but resigned to obeying orders. He packed his bag and stood up on aging bones. "I'll leave you to it then, Sire. Rest well."

"Thank you, Gaius." Arthur nodded. He closed his eyes and listened to the aging physician's footsteps retreat and the soft click as the door closed behind him. Then he sighed in relief and lay back, willing sleep to claim him once more.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

A soft knock at his chamber door broke Arthur out of his thoughts. He blinked a few times, bringing the courtyard below his window back into focus. He had been so lost, so consumed by the storm raging in his mind that he hadn't even noticed the sun had nearly set. How long had it been? One, two days since their return? Just about two now, he would say. He had spent nearly the full first day sleeping away his exhaustion and now…

Now he didn't know what to do. He was still angry, still too troubled by Merlin's revelation to focus on anything, to get any work done, and that only made him angrier. It was a cruel cycle that had no end.

No, he knew how to end it. He just couldn't yet. Or didn't want to. He no longer knew which. It was easy, hating Merlin, blaming him, focusing all his rage at one source no matter how illogical. It was easier than facing him, easier than going piece by piece, sifting through the lies and deceit to find the truth. It was easier than forgiving, if that was even possible. Magic had killed his mother, his father, turned his sister against them, and done so much harm to his kingdom. It was just easier to point the finger and set that which caused the problem ablaze, purging it from the land.

His father had utilized that logic. Taken the easy way out. Gaius would have told Arthur he was better than that. Merlin would have reminded him he was not his father.

But Merlin was the whole reason he was in this predicament in the first place. So why in hell should he believe the word of a sorcerer?

_Because he's right._

_Because he saved your life._

_Because he's still Merlin._

Arthur shook his head. No, he couldn't be sure. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore. Not until he talked to Merlin himself. But he couldn't bring himself to face him, and therein lay the real problem.

The knock came again, louder this time.

"Enter," he bid the visitor.

The door creaked open, and without turning, Arthur could tell by the soft, slippered footsteps that it was Gwen. He sighed, knowing before she even spoke, why she had come. It wasn't hard to guess. He hadn't exactly been the most social person since their return. All anyone wanted was answers he didn't want to give. So he had sequestered himself in his chambers under the guise of finishing reports and with the orders to not be disturbed.

Guinevere was an exception to that order and she knew that. But she also had the uncanny ability to know when he wanted space and didn't pry unless she was exceedingly concerned.

Which was the only reason why she would be here.

"Arthur, are you alright?"

Arthur nodded, still not taking his eyes off the courtyard below. He had watched many a sorcerer burn from this very spot. Listening to the screams of the dying, the smell of burning flesh filling his nose. It could have been Merlin, he suddenly realized. Any one of those times, it could have been Merlin.

It might still be Merlin.

"I'm fine." The words were instinct, an automatic response.

Fabric rustled as Gwen shifted her weight, hesitant. "I know what you went through was quite an ordeal and that it must not be easy to have lost—"

Arthur cut her off. "Gwen, I said I'm fine."

Silence fell over the room, thick and heavy.

"Then why haven't you seen Merlin?" Her tone had changed, still soft and calm but now laced with disappointment and a hint of anger. "Why have you not even asked after his well being? What is going on with you?"

Arthur could feel the anger building in him once more. "It is none of your concern," he said, his voice void of any emotion.

"How can you say that?" She sounded hurt, as though by avoiding Merlin, he was personally wounding her. "Let me help you. You are my husband, if something is troubling you, if something is ailing you, it is my concern."

"No, it's not!" Arthur shouted as he whirled around, his anger bubbling over and finally getting the best of him.

Gwen took a step back, shock flashing across her face before her expression turned troubled. She looked like she wanted to reach out, to console him but didn't want to push him any further.

Guilt immediately assaulted Arthur and he took a deep breath to calm himself. "I'm sorry Gwen, I can't...I don't want to talk about it. Not...not yet. Please don't press."

She hesitated before nodding, her eyes softening. "You know you can always talk to me, Arthur. Always."

Arthur turned back to the window and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginning of a headache. "I know. I just, I need to be alone for a bit. To think things through. I promise, I'll answer everyone's questions….when I'm ready. Just not now. Please."

"Alright. I'll let you be, then." And he was again left alone with his thoughts.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"He's awake, you know. Been awake for some time now," Gwen said suddenly over their evening meal the next night. "Asking about you."

Arthur kept silent, focusing on chewing the venison that suddenly lost all flavor in his mouth. He had nothing to say, at least nothing that wouldn't give the game up. Because that's what this was now, a game of secrets and lies and pain. He wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't told Gwen about Merlin, why he hadn't revealed all that he had discovered about their so-called friend. On the surface, he told himself that it was because he wanted to spare Gwen the pain of finding out his betrayal, but deep down he knew that wasn't the case. He wanted Merlin to tell Gwen himself. He wanted to hear about it from her, to understand how she felt about his having magic after hearing it from the sorcerer himself. He wanted to know what it felt like to be trusted with such a secret.

But he never got that, Merlin never told him in confidence. And that hurt most of all.

"He's frightened," Gwen continued, setting her fork down and leveling Arthur with a pleading look. "He won't say what of, nor tell us anything else…." she trailed off, uncertain. Arthur stabbed another piece of meat and chewed it, trying to ignore Gwen's words and the unwanted stab of guilt they brought about.

His silence only spurred her on. "I don't know what happened out there, Arthur, and I won't pry, but please, just go see him." Her voice broke then, and Arthur glanced up to see tears forming in her eyes. "It's….you're hurting him. He needs to know you are alright, he needs to know….he needs to see you."

Arthur set down his utensils, his appetite now gone. "Thank you for informing me, Guinevere," he stated, tone even. Without waiting for a response, Arthur stood up and excused himself from the table, striding out of the room in the opposite direction of the physician's chambers.

He had barely made it down the next corridor when he heard Gwaine's voice calling after him. He stopped in the corridor and took a breath before turning around to face the knight.

"Sir Gwaine." Gwaine didn't even blink at the use of his proper title, his eyes hard and face set, ready for a fight as he approached.

"I don't care what turmoil you have raging through that kingly head of yours but this needs to stop," he nearly shouted. The few servants who had been in the corridor quickly made themselves scarce. They knew better than to stick around when Gwaine was begging for a fight.

"I suggest you remember who you are speaking to, Sir Gwaine."

Gwaine growled, jabbing a finger at Arthur. "I know damn well who I am talking to. A coward." He poked Arthur hard in the chest. "You can't even go and see him after all he's done for you?!"

Anger boiled up in Arthur at Gwaine's words. "You dare call your king—"

"You're torturing him, Arthur!" Gwaine shouted, throwing his hands out in anger. "I know you know he's been asking for you. Just go see him and put him out of his damn misery. It's the least you can do after he saved your life. I'm not stupid Arthur, I know the only reason you two made it out of that castle alive was because of him."

Some of Arthur's anger fizzled out at Gwaine's words. Put him out of his misery? Did Gwaine think that he was going to sentence Merlin to burn? Did Merlin? Is that why he was so scared, so on edge? Was he waiting for the moment the guards would come storming in to haul him away to the pyre?

But wasn't that exactly what Arthur had been contemplating just days ago? Was a part of him still contemplating it?

Gwaine stepped forward, coming within a hand's breadth of Arthur and lowering his voice.

"And just know, my oath was made to him, not to you. He's the only reason I've stayed. The only reason I follow you is because he does." There was no mistaking the threat in Gwaine voice. Arthur glared at him, standing his ground, unflinching. "So if you decide the law is more important than the years he's spent by your side saving your ungrateful arse, I will not hesitate to act. I won't let you execute him."

Gwaine leveled a glare at Arthur before turning and striding back down the corridor toward the physician's chambers.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

_"Arthur, please. It's been a week. You're killing him. He's sick with worry, barely eating, hardly sleeping. He's frightened, and all he wants is to see you. Please Arthur, if you care for him, if you ever cared for him, go visit him. Please."_

Gwen's words from that afternoon rang through Arthur's head, softening his anger. Guilt, pooled in his gut with the worry and concern that were ever present as of late. He ran a hand through his hair as he escaped the confines of the castle walls and broke out onto the battlements and into the fresh evening air.

The night was cool and crisp, chilled ever more by a soft breeze that wound its way through the castle. But up on the battlements, the wind was given free reign, playing with Arthur's cloak as he looked out over the kingdom. His kingdom, the people he fought for and would gladly die for. The very people he swore to protect and help thrive. He hoped he was doing them justice, but lately he wasn't so sure. He had unknowingly allowed a sorcerer to run amuck, to do as he wished with no one the wiser. He felt troubled at the thought but also, a sense of calm, of right. And the more he thought of it, the more Merlin's being a sorcerer made sense. It was so obvious to him now, the easy escapes, the lucky breaks, the many times he had been knocked unconscious only to have unknowingly come out victorious in the end. Merlin had been there through it all.

Could it really be that easy? A sorcerer using his magic to help rather than harm. It seemed improbable, unlikely after all his father had taught him. But he knew his father had been wrong before. Perhaps he had been wrong in this aspect too.

Arthur could hardly comprehend the thought. If that was true, then many innocent people had died at his father's command. That blood was on him, on his family. It was no wonder the only sorcerers he had come across in his youth had sought revenge. Had he been in their place, he would have, too.

Still, despite what he thought he knew, Arthur couldn't be certain of Merlin's true intentions. Avoiding the matter wouldn't help, that was obvious now. He needed to seek answers from the source.

It was about time he pay his servant a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween to those who celebrate! Have fun, eat candy, and don't die. And until next chapter, stay magical my friends.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello. Hi, yeah I know, it's been quite a long time. Bet you all though I abandoned it. I've only abandoned one fic and i promised myself I wouldn't do it again. So here it is, the final chapter, better late than never right? Now seeing as it's been over a year since my last update, I'm guessing you all would like a little refresher on what has happened so far so you don't have to go back and read all 41k words that you have most likely forgotten....
> 
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> _Merlin and Arthur were captured by mercenaries and when Merlin gets beaten for running his mouth, he ends up vomiting into a gag and nearly dying. They escape but Merlin falls ill from his ordeal and they take shelter in a small village where the villagers give them aid and a horse in the morning. One their way to Camelot they are caught by the mercenaries and Arthur is taken. Merlin suffers a horrible coughing fit and is left behind. Gwaine and Percival find him and race him back to Camelot while Arthur is ferried to Deorham and discovers Alined is behind all this. But it isn't Arthur he wants._
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> _In Camelot, Merlin wakes up still very ill and weak and is distraught knowing Arthur was taken. He overhears Gwen reading a randsom note from Alined demanding Emrys come and claim his king in a week or else Arthur will die a slow and painful death. The letter is accompanied by Arthur left forefinger as proof. Merlin of course races off to Deorham despite still being very ill and Gwaine and Percival intercept him and insist they join him. Merlin spells them to sleep once there and sneaks into the castle to find Arthur only to be caught in a trap and wake up bound to a chair in front of Alined. Alined demands he swear a blood oath and bind himself to him and Merlin refuses so he brings Arthur in threatening to kill him but Merlin still refuses. Merlin manages to blast the guards and Alined and Trickler back and release Arthur but he's ailing and weak and cann't even manage to stand. But in desperation he transports himself and Arthur to the outskirts of Gwaine and Percival and his camp before passing out._  
>  Arthur is shocked and angry at having seen his friend use magic and reveal his true nature and tries to prevent Gwaine from helping an unconscious Merlin. Gwaine of course gets angry and does it anyway but even as they race back to Camelot with Alined's men on their heels, Merlin doesn't wake. He is taken up to Gaius' chambers upon their arrival and Arthur stalks off not paying his clearly dying servant any mind.
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> _He refuses to see Merlin for a week. Even after being told he has awoken and is calling for Arthur, even after Gwen begs him saying Merlin is getting worse, not sleeping, not eating, constantly fearful and worried. He still refuses not ready to face the betrayal of his best friend because it is easier to just hate him. The last chapter ends with Arthur coming to the conclusion that he needs to know, he needs to let Merlin explain himself before he can finally understand and decide what he should do. (I do recommend re-reading the last chapter just in case, but do whatever you want)_
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> So, without further ado, the next and final chapter of Compromising Position....

Merlin tried to will himself to sleep, begging to be allowed to rest, just for a little while. But his mind refused to give him any reprieve. Every sound, every creak every footfall or muffled voice made his heart race, his breathing to become labored until he nearly got his desired sleep from mere lack of oxygen. Several times Gaius had to come rushing in to get him to breathe, reassure him and beg him to eat something. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, because he did, he was starving. But food wouldn’t stay down, his nerves getting the best of him every time he tried until he was sick all over the bedclothes. 

The guards would be coming for him and take him down to the dungeons to await the assembling of a pyre. He didn’t know when, he didn’t know how, but it was approaching. His death was approaching

He wasn't sure why it hadn't happened already.

He used to say he wasn’t afraid of death. He would gladly have walked through the veil and given his life for Arthur. But this, too weak to get out of bed, too ill to even walk to the pyre himself, that wasn’t how he imagined himself leaving this world. And especially not on Arthur’s orders. 

That’s what he feared the most.

That the man he had dedicated his life to, that he swore to protect and held so much faith in would in the end, order his death to be carried out. The ultimate betrayal, the definition of failure.

If only he could get out of his damn bed and talk to Arthur himself. It was clear that Arthur didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to see him or else he would have done so by now. No doubt he felt angry and hurt, adding Merlin to the long list of friends that he trusted only for them to turn around and betray him.

Except Merlin had not betrayed him. Well, not in the long run.

He just needed Arthur to understand that. But he couldn’t very well explain himself when Arthur refused to see him. And he couldn’t go see Arthur when he was confined to his bed, weak and trembling and so high strung for the very reason he needed to go talk to Arthur.

He didn’t know how much longer he could last before his heart, his lungs, or his body gave up.

Merlin jumped as the muffled creak of the door in the main chamber startled him out of his thoughts. Was this it? Was this the moment the guards would come bursting in, dragging him to the pyre? His breathing sped up, body shaking, listening to the inevitable sound of multiple pairs of boots on floorboards, of the clanking and creaking of metal armor, of his death coming to greet him. 

Muted footsteps sounded beyond his door increasing in volume as they approached his room. Boots, one pair. Definitely not Gaius.

He struggled to pull himself into a sitting position in the dark room, his arms trembling and lungs heaving as he tried to control his panic. It was no use. His body couldn’t handle the strain and he ended up in a half-sitting position just as his door unlatched and was pushed open.

Merlin let out a shaky breath, resigned. “Arthur.” 

“Merlin.”

Arthur stood in the doorway, his face shadowed, body backlit by the light of the fire burning in the main room. It set his hair aglow, golden and wind swept as though he had just come from the battlements. A cloak was draped across his shoulders creating a long uninterrupted dark line from his neck to the floor. No bulky armor, no sword strapped to his waist.

Merlin didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one.

“Arthur. Please, listen to me. I—”

Arthur interrupted him with a raised hand and shook his head. “Merlin—” 

“No, Arthur damn it you will listen to me!” He hadn’t meant to shout but the words just came bursting forth. He was sick and tired, physically and mentally, and too stressed to let this go on any further. “I have spent a week in constant fear of dying without getting to say my peace, of having to see the betrayal and hatred in your eyes as I burned. Now you will shut up and listen! I refuse to die with you thinking me a traitor!”

“You are not going to die, Merlin,” Arthur said. He moved further into the darkened room, moving his head about as though searching for something.

With a whispered word, the candle on Merlin’s bedside table burst to life, it’s flame dancing across the ceiling and chasing away the shadows in the room. Arthur flinched, his eyes wide as they locked onto the flame but he remained where he was. A small spark of satisfaction washed through Merlin at the sight but immediately he felt guilty for it.

It must have taken all of Arthur’s willpower not to go running for the guards.

“I’m not leaving, if that’s what you are thinking,” Merlin said, proud of himself for keeping his voice steady and collected when all he wanted to do was break down and beg for forgiveness. “I won’t do it. You’ll have to kill me.”

Arthur shook his head. “I won’t—”

“That’s the only way to ensure I won’t fight to protect you,” Merlin continued on. He kept his eyes on Arthur’s face, trying to determine his reaction. But Arthur had recovered from the shock of Merlin’s blatant use of magic, his features now schooled into an unreadable mask. Uther had taught him well in that aspect. “The only way to keep me from remaining by your side. You can run me out, take me to the furthest reaches of this world and leave me there, but I’ll find a way back. My place is by your side.”

Arthur opened his mouth to interrupt but Merlin ploughed on. He had too much he needed to say, too much he needed to get off his chest.

“No, listen to me Arthur. My magic, it isn’t for me. It’s for you. I use it for you. To protect you, to aid you, to give you the strength you need to fight for us all. This kingdom you have built, it needs you. And you need me.”

“What if I don’t want you here?” Arthur said. His voice was low, even, almost monotone.

A sharp stabbing pain lanced through Merlin’s heart at Arthur’s words. He looked down at the blanket over his lap, trying to hide the hurt he knew was written all over his face. “Then you won’t know I’m here,” he said in a quiet tone. “But it won’t stop me from still caring about you, for fighting to keep you safe.”

Arthur’s mask finally broke at that, his face crumbling into a mixture of pain and anger. “Why? Why do you care so much?” he demanded, throwing his hands up and pacing to the desk on the side of Merlin’s cramped chambers. “I’ve hurt you, caused you so much pain and anguish. I’m the reason we were captured. I avoided you for a week even knowing what it was doing to you! You should hate me! Why don’t you hate me?!”

Tense heated silence filled the room. Merlin studied Arthur’s face, his pinched brow, the drawn tired eyes he only just noticed, the torment in his expression. It was clear that Merlin hadn’t been the only one suffering from their week long separation. The reveal of his magic had took its toll on both of them, just in different forms. Didn’t make the pain any less for one over the other.

“Do you want me to?” Merlin asked, voice soft.

“No!” Arthur shouted, eyes turning wild as he took another step forward as though to reach out. Merlin shied away, still not sure what Arthur’s motive for being here was. And he dared not hope for it being in his favor. Arthur sat heavily on the edge of the bed, form slumping in defeat as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “No, Merlin. I need you, I understand that now. I would have been dead long ago if it weren’t for you, I’m guessing.”

Merlin winced, but stayed silent. He didn’t dare interrupt Arthur, not when his words were starting to sound promising.

Arthur sighed, glancing over at him. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He shifted on the bed, bringing a knee up to lay on top of the bed and turning his body so he faced Merlin. “If there’s anything this past week has taught me it’s that I need you, Merlin. I need your strength, your wisdom, your council. I can’t even make a decision about you without feeling the need to consult you! And without your advice I clearly make poor choices.” He gestured to Merlin’s current bedridden state, his trembling hands, his sunken tired eyes. “So I humbly apologize, my friend. I need you, more than I ever realized. Even if it’s just to tell me when I’m being a royal prat.”

“You’re being a royal prat,” Merlin deadpanned.

Arthur chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, that I had actually gleaned for myself.”

Merlin couldn’t help but softly smile at that. “Took you long enough.”

He know he should still feel anger at how Arthur had treated him the past week but it was washed away with his admission. There was no use for anger on his part. What was done was done and now they could hopefully begin to heal and recover. One step at a time, one word at a time.

“I do sincerely apologize.” Arthur said again, meeting Merlin’s eyes. The genuine regret in his eyes was like a balm to Merlin’s nerves, washing away the tension and stress that had been building throughout the days.

“Now I know you must be truly addled without me,” Merlin said with a chuckle of his own. “That’s twice you have apologized in one conversation let alone one day.”

Arthur rolled his eyes before leveling Merlin with a look. “There’s a lot I’m sure I need to apologize for. Might as well start somewhere.”

“And there’s a lot I need to apologize for as well.” Merlin admitted. Arthur was far from the only one to blame in all this. Merlin had a lot he needed to own up to, a lot that he knew Arthur would not be happy to hear. He had made so many mistakes and had hurt a lot of people. Arthur’s people and Arthur himself. There would be anger and shouting and accusations, but it needed to be done. 

They couldn’t begin to heal without first extracting the poison.

Arthur shook his head with amusement, looking down at his lap. “Aren’t we a pair.” He brushed his fingers over the bandage covering his left hand, fiddling with the fabric. Merlin wasn’t sure if he was aware of what he was doing, but he sure was. For a while there he had forgotten about Arthur’s injury, about what he had lost. Now, the guilt came back full force.

Merlin winced as he watched Arthur pick at the bandage. “I’m sorry.” Arthur looked up at Merlin, brow pinched in confusion. Merlin nodded toward his injury. “About your hand.”

Arthur shrugged. “I’ll live.” He was trying to brush it off like it was nothing, to show he was the strong powerful king he had to be. Merlin could see right through it. But he wasn’t about to let Arthur wallow in self pity when there was something he could do about it.

“You will but it’s my fault you have to live with one less finger.” If Alined hadn’t captured Arthur in the hopes of trapping Merlin, trapping Emrys, none of this would have happened. And if Merlin hadn’t opened his damn mouth and goaded the mercenaries who had captured them into taking their anger out on him, he might not have fallen ill. They could have found a better time to escape and Merlin would have been strong and healthy and capable of protecting his king. It was all Merlin’s fault, in more ways than one.

Arthur spoke up then, breaking through Merlin’s guilty thoughts. “Does your….can you…” He was staring down at his bandaged hand, brow furrowed, eyes unable to meet Merlin’s as he tried to find the words he was searching for. “Can anything be...done about it?”

Guilt and shame washed over Merlin as he shook his head. “No,” he admitted watching Arthur’s expression fall, his shoulders slump even further. He put on a brave enough face, nodding like he expected it but he wasn’t fooling Merlin. “I’m sorry Arthur. Even if I wasn’t absolute shit at healing spells, magic can’t bring back what is no longer there.”

Arthur nodded again, picking at a loose thread on the bandages around his hand. “I’ll get used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to though. If I could trade my own for yours, I would.”

With a shake of his head, Arthur straightened up, his face once more composed as he met Merlin’s eyes. “You’ve gone through enough. But you can start explaining.”

Merlin’s heart sped up in fear or excitement, he didn’t exactly know. But it didn’t matter. This was a vital moment, his words his admissions, he answers. They would either make or break their relationship. Make or break the future of Albion.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and took a calming breath. “What do you want to know?” Merlin asked.

“Everything.”

So Merlin started at the beginning, with his birth and his childhood, how he came to Camelot and the years he had spent by Arthur’s side. Arthur for his part, remained quiet, listening, only interrupting with questions or comments here and there. He didn’t take the release of the dragon too well but calmed enough to talk it through when tears welled in Merlin’s eyes as his guilt overwhelmed him. Merlin was shocked when Arthur completely understood that Merlin had nothing to do with his father’s death, that he hadn’t blamed Dragoon for a while now. There were smiles and tears, laughter and anger, accusations and apologies but together they talked it through and came to a mutual understanding. 

Arthur didn’t fully accept his magic, he would still need more time, but Merlin had hope that he would eventually. It would be hard and taxing on the both of them. Change didn’t happen overnight.

It was Merlin who suggested they continue to keep his magic a secret. Arthur agreed, saying the kingdom wasn’t ready for it yet. But he promised the executions and harsh punishments for mundane harmless magic would cease. 

He didn’t bring up possibly lifting the ban and Merlin didn’t dare bring it up. There would be time enough for that later. For now, it this was enough.

And as the night waned and the sky painted a rosy pink of a new day, Merlin bowed his head from his place on his bed and swore fealty to the once and future king, that he was Arthur’s for now and until he left this world for the next. That his magic and all that he controlled were Arthur’s, to command and direct as he saw fit. 

But most importantly, his loyalty was to Arthur and only to Arthur.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As soon as Gaius—who, as Merlin suspected, had purposefully made himself scarce the night Arthur came to talk to Merlin—released Merlin from bed rest, he was out the door and down to the stables.

Barda’s mare was in the furthest stall, next to Merlin’s own, casually grazing on a bunch of hay the stable hands had just delivered. Merlin sighed upon seeing her. Her coat shined in the morning light filtering through the stable windows, her eyes bright and warm alighting on him as he approached. The stable hands had been taking good care of her, just like Arthur promised. Now all Merlin needed to do was fulfil the second half of Arthur’s promise.

Merlin smiled as the mare met him at the entrance to her stall. “Hey girl, you ready to go home?” She pushed her snout against his ear and he laughed, reaching up to give her a few caring strokes.

“Merlin, what are you doing?” 

Merlin didn’t even bother turning around to face Arthur. Instead, he gave the mare one last stroke on her snout before walking over to the next stall over and grabbing his mare’s tack.

“I’m taking the mare back to Barda. He’s been without her long enough, I’m sure he would like her back.” His own mare gave Merlin the same pleased greeting, pushing her face against his before searching his hands for a treat. “Sorry, I don’t have anything for you,” he said to her. “I promise to bring you the juiciest apple when we return.”

Arthur let out a loud deep sigh behind Merlin. “You aren’t going Merlin.”

Merlin whipped around, nearly falling amongst the fresh hay that littered the stall floor, dropping the tack as he tried to right himself. He met Arthur’s gaze. “Why not?”

“That sickness must have really adled your brain,” Arthur chuckled before growing serious once more. “Alined knows who you are. He could have men waiting to ambush you the moment you leave the Camelot.”

Merlin rolled his eyes at Arthur’s antics. “I’ll be fine. If he tries anything, I can just…” He wiggled his fingers in an exaggeration of casting a spell.

He could, really he could. Arthur didn’t seem to mind as much when Merlin casually used his magic as long as it was done out of sight of those who remained ignorant. He still flinched sometimes so the less Merlin used in front of Arthur, the better. And although his body was still recovering, he felt more like himself. Still a little weaker than he liked and more prone to shortness of breath, but his magic felt better and more alive than it had in a while.

Arthur crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at Merlin. “Yes because that worked so well last time.”

Merlin huffed, picking straw off the tack he had dropped on the floor. “I was ill the last time. I’ll be fine now.”

“You are not in perfect health Merlin.” Arthur walked over and joined Merlin in his mare’s stall. He reached up to the horse, allowing her to nuzzle into his hand before stroking her between the eyes. “You just got off bed rest.”

“Arthur, I have to go. I need to thank them in person,” Merlin persisted. He wanted to go, to get out of Camelot for just a brief stint. He had been locked away in his chambers like an abducted damsel for far too long. A bit of fresh air, some sunlight and the calm surroundings of the forest was what he desperately needed right now. And he felt an obligation to the people of that village. A need to repay them for all they had done for him and Arthur. “We owe those people so much.”

Arthur nodded as he continued to stroke Merlin’s horse. “You can, just when you are in better health and the issue with Alined has been resolved.” He turned his head then and met Merlin’s eyes. “We will both go.”

With a sigh, Merlin relented. He picked up the tack and returned it to its place by the stall. He hated to admit it, but Arthur had a point. Just the act of lifting and carrying the heavy tack had left Merlin winded. He was in no way in perfect health but he hated being idle and useless. And if Alined didn’t accept their terms, there was no telling how long he’d have to stay cooped up within Camelot’s walls. 

“I’m still not sure declaring war was the best course of action,” he admitted aloud, more to himself than to Arthur.

Arthur shook his head as they each gave the mare one more friendly pat before leaving the stall. “It was your idea,” he pointed out. “Besides, like you said, with Annis and Rodor agreeing to back us, he has no choice but to concede.”

“But he’s just that side of unhinged that he would allow his men to be slaughtered, his kingdom to fall, and his head to be on the chopping block before he admits defeat.” Merlin had had enough dealings with Alined to know just how far the man would go to get what he wanted. How far he would let things go before he would give up. 

And people thought Merlin was the one with a mental affliction.

Arthur shook his head again. “He won’t take a declaration of war lightly,” he assured Merlin. They picked their way through the stables toward the door, shoulders brushing as they walked.

“I hope he doesn’t take it lightly. If he does then unseating him from the throne will be the best course of action for the whole of Albion.”

Arthur shrugged, his face set in a mask of indifference. “It’s no less than he deserves. He broke the treaty, held me hostage, and tried to enslave a warlock in order to take control of the five kingdoms. But if he relinquishes his title and forfeits his kingdom in recompense without bloodshed, all the better.”

Merlin nodded in agreement. He hadn’t wanted any bloodshed, not on either side. But the fact remained that blood had already been shed. Arthur had lost a finger and recompense needed to be made. When Arthur revealed his decision to declare war with  Deorham, Merlin had suggested an alternative. Ask for the support of Nemeth and Gwyedd and together they could declare war. The threat from three kingdoms should be enough to result in Alined’s immediate yield and the three kingdoms could divide his lands up accordingly.

“I must admit, it was not a bad plan.” Arthur said, squinting in the morning sun as they exited the stables.

Merlin glanced over at Arthur, a smirk on his lips. “I’ve been known to have them every once in a while.”

“A long, long while,” Arthur said without taking his eyes off the courtyard ahead. “Almost a rarity I would say.”

A pair of guards passed by, bowing respectfully to Arthur before continuing on to their post. “Rare indeed, sire,” Merlin chuckled. “Nearly endangered.”

A week later, Arthur, Merlin, a handful of knights, wagons full of goods and food, and a docile mare made the journey to a small little village south of Camelot that had lent aid to an ailing warlock and his once and future king.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you who have stuck around through all my horrible posting habits and for giving kudos and leaving comments. And for all you newbies, thanks for reading. Just, thanks everyone. Hope you enjoyed it.


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